m 


'iSBi 


I 


SKIS-— frontispiece. 


'  Read  it  out  for  us." 


p.  10. 


PHIL  DERRY: 


AUTHOR  OF  "RUTH  ALLEBTON,"  "CBRISTMAS  WITH  THE  BOYS,"  "SANDY 

CAMERON,"  "HALF  A  DOZEN  BOYS,"  "HALF  A  DOZEN  GIRLS," 

"A  PACKAGE  OF  SEEDS,"  "BARLEY  LOAVES,"  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL   UNION, 
No.  1122  CHESTNTJT  STREET. 


NEW  YORK  :  Nos.  8  AND  10  BIBLE  HOUSE,  ASTOR  PLACE. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by  the 

AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL   UNION, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


WESTCOTT  &  THOMSON,  HENRY  B.  ASHMEAD, 

Stereotypert  and  Klcclrotypcrs,  Philada.  Printer,  Philada. 


CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  -A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN 7 

II. — SOMETHING  NEW  IN  EAGLEVILLE 13 

III. — JAKE  BERRY'S  WIFE 19 

IV. — MAKING  A  START 28 

V. — MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS 38 

VI. — A  CHEERLESS  HOME 52 

VII. — LIZZIE,  SALLIE,  AND  SAM 61 

VIII. — NATHAN  BROWN'S  ASSISTANT 72 

IX. — PHIL  IN  DISGRACE 81 

X. — UP,  AND  DOWN  AGAIN 95 

XL — AN  IMPORTANT  CHANGE 105 

XIL— STOKES'S  UNWELCOME  LODGER 115 

XIIL— A  FRIEND  IN  NEED 128 

XIV.— TRAVEL  AND  TALK 140 

XV. — A  MORNING  OUT  OF  DOORS 155 

1* 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XVI. — How  THEY  BEGAN  THE  WORK  AT  SHU- 

NEM 167 

XVII. — A  HIDE,  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 176 

XVIII. — EAGLEVILLE  AGAIN 188 

XIX. — BRIGHTENING  THE   FIRE    AND  DARK- 
ENING A  LIFE 203 

XX.— "AMAZING  GRACE" 221 

XXI.— A  TALK  IN  CAPT.  MARKS'S  BACK  KOOM  231 

XXII. — QUESTIONS  OF  TASTE 241 

XXIII.— THE  BREAKING  UP 255 

XXIV.— THE  FRESHET 271 

XXV.— A  SINGING-SCHOOL 284 

XXVI.— STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN 292 

XXVII. — UNEXPECTED  HELPERS 306 

XXVIII— A  CHANGE  OF  SCENE 326 

XXIX. — A  DIFFERENCE  OF  OPINION 341 

XXX.— A  BELATED  TRAVELLER 352 

XXXI— THE  SUMMING  UP....  364 


PHIL  DERRY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A  STEANGER  IN  TOWN. 

,  HERE  was  a  group  of  men  loung- 
ing in  the  bar-room  of  the  Eagle- 
ville  hotel.  Bar-room  is  not  just 
the  name  for  it  perhaps,  because 
the  little  counter  with  shelves  behind  it 
told  plainly  that  it  was  a  store  as  well, 
while  a  tin  letter-box  in  one  corner  sug- 
gested that  here  was  the  post-office  also ; 
yet  as  one  entered  the  door  the  smell  of 
whisky  and  the  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke 
so  overpowered  everything  else  that  bar- 
room appeared  the  only  fitting  name. 
The  men  sat  around  the  stove,  each  with 

7 


8  PHIL   DERBY. 

his  chair  tilted  back  and  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  seeming  to  enjoy  themselves 
very  much.  Now  and  then  a  pipe  was 
removed  just  long  enough  to  make  a 
remark,  but  for  the  most  part  they 
puffed  away  in  silence,  finding  amuse- 
ment enough  in  watching  the  people 
who  passed  in  and  out  the  door.  The 
landlord,  postmaster  and  storekeeper  of 
Eagleville,  Captain  Marks  by  name, 
stood  behind  the  counter  busy  as  a  man 
of  three  vocations  certainly  ought  to  be. 
He  turned  readily  from  measuring  off 
six  yards  of  brown  calico  for  an  old 
woman,  who  had  been  haggling  over  the 
price  for  half  an  hour,  to  the  dirty-faced 
child  who  had  a  penny  to  spend  on 
peppermint  candy,  and  was  over  on  the 
post-office  side  sorting  over  the  letters, 
when  lawyer  Smithers  came  in  for  his 
mail.  The  lazy  smokers  watched  every 
quick  motion  of  Captain  Marks  as  if 
merely  looking  at  work  was  exercise 
enough  for  them. 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  9 

There  had  been  perfect  quiet  in  the 
dingy  room  for  a  few  moments,  and  the 
men  had  puffed  away  undisturbed  when 
a  click  at  the  door-latch  caused  every 
pipe  to  go  down  and  every  eye  to  turn  in 
that  direction.  A  man  entered.  There 
was  nothing  unusual  in  his  appearance, 
but  these  Eagleville  loungers  gazed  as 
if  it  were  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
them  to  know  the  exact  cut  of  his  coat 
and  his  whiskers  and  the  size  of  his 
travelling-bag.  The  stranger,  for  such 
he  was,  looked  neither  right  nor  left, 
but  stepped  briskly  toward  the  counter 
and  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone  to 
Captain  Marks,  who  only  nodded  his 
head  thoughtfully  and  then  handed  the 
new-comer  a  hammer.  The  pipes  all 
returned  to  their  owners'  mouths,  but  all 
eyes  were  turned  toward  that  side  of  the 
smoky  wall  where  with  tacks  that  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  traveller  fast- 
ened up  a  printed  sheet.  This  done  he 
turned  again  to  the  landlord,  spoke  a 


10  PHIL  DEREY. 

few  words  which  the  rest  could  not  hear, 
and  passed  out.  Two  or  three  of  the 
chairs  now  came  down  on  all  four  legs, 
and  everybody  looked  toward  Captain 
Marks. 

"  Circus  coming,  maybe !"  said  one. 

The  landlord  shook  his  head.  There 
was  a  customer  at  the  door,  and  no  time 
had  he  for  idle  talk. 

"Circus!"  repeated  another  of  the 
loungers.  "  No,  he  don't  look  like  one 
o'  that  sort." 

"  Look  at  that  bill  there,"  said  a  third. 
"There  ain't  no  picture  o'  lions  and 
tigers  or  men  riding  four  horses  at  once, 
is  there  now  ?  Read  it  out  for  us,  Rich- 
ards; let's  hear  what  it  is  about,  any- 
how." 

Richards  accordingly  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  read  aloud  the  contents  of  the 
paper. 

"  American  Sunday-school  Union,  eh?" 
said  the  one  who  had  first  spoken.  "  Well, 
that  don't  sound  much  like  circus,  to  be 


A  STRANGER   IN   TOWN.  11 

sure ;  but  I  don't  just  know  what  it  does 
mean ;  do  you,  Cap'n  ?" 

The  landlord  being  for  the  moment  at 
liberty,  crossed  the  counter  and  joined 
his  guests  at  the  stove. 

"I  can't  tell  you  much  more  than 
what's  on  that  ere  paper,"  said  he.  "  The 
man  that  put  it  up  came  in  the  train  this 
morning,  and  has  been  going  about  town 
talking  to  the  folks  about  religion,  I 
guess ;  anyway,  he  has  a  parcel  of  Bibles 
to  sell  or  give,  I  don't  know  which.  He 
left  a  tract  in  the  other  room,  and  my 
Martha  has  been  spelling  it  out  ever 
since." 

"  A  book  agent  likely ;  there  was  one 
of  'em  came  round  last  fall,  you  know ; 
wanted  to  sell  every  family  in  Eagleville 
a  copy  of  the  best  and  usefullest  volume 
ever  was  printed ;  I  forget  what  it  was 
called;  my  wife  went  and  threw  away 
two  or  three  dollars  on  it,  and  not  one 
of  us  has  ever  looked  in  it  except  to  see 
the  pictur'  in  the  front." 


12  PHIL   DERRY. 

"No,  Jenks,"  replied  the  landlord, 
"this  is  a  very  different  sort  of  person. 
He's  for  doing  good  and  not  for  making 
money,  depend  on  it.  Anyhow,  he's  to 
hold  a  meeting  in  the  school-house  to- 
night at  seven  o'clock,  sharp  Suppose 
you  all  go  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say. 
That's  the  best  way  of  finding  out." 

The  man  addressed  as  Jenks  laughed 
and  said  he  didn't  know  as  to  that.  There 
wasn't  any  Sunday  in  Eagleville  as  he 
knew  of,  certainly  not  any  Sunday-school, 
and  he  guessed  the  stranger  had  made  a 
mistake  in  calling  together  the  people 
to  listen  to  something  they  didn't  know 
anything  about.  However,  he  was  not 
sure  but  he  might  look  in  at  the  school- 
house  just  to  hear  what  the  fellow  was 
driving  at. 

The  group  dispersed,  for  it  was  near 
dinner-time;  and  the  landlord,  left  to 
himself  for  the  moment,  stood  with  folded 
arms  before  the  printed  paper  on  the  yel- 
low wall  and  read  it  carefully  through. 


CHAPTER    II. 
SOMETHING  NEW  IN  EAQLEV1LLE. 

HAT  evening  as  the  clock  struck 
seven  an  earnest-faced  man  stepped 
upon  the  platform  of  the  rough 
little  school-house.  It  was  the 
stranger  who  had  so  perplexed  *the 
loungers  around  the  hotel  stove  in  the 
morning.  The  benches  were  well  filled, 
for  public  entertainments  were  rare  in 
this  far  Western  town,  and  people  had 
come  together  in  the  hope  of  being 
amused,  many  still  clinging  to  the  idea 
that  there  was  to  be  a  show  of  some 
kind.  Captain  Marks  was  there  with 
his  daughter  Martha;  Jenks,  too,  who 
was  by  this  time  convinced  that  this  was 
not  another  book-agent  to  impose  upon 
his  wife;  and  one  or  two  more  of  the 
smokers  had  come  with  their  families 

2  13 


14  PHIL   DERBY. 

to  hear  what  was  goiDg  on.  There  was 
considerable  whispering  among  neigh- 
bors, laughing  and  shuffling  of  feet  up 
to  the  moment  when  a  strong,  clear  voice 
repeated  the  opening  lines  of  a  familiar 
hymn  and  struck  the  notes  of  a  tune, 
new  to  certain  boys  and  girls  who  had 
spent  their  whole  lives  in  this  godless 
Western  town,  but  to  many  of  the  older 
ones  full  of  memories  of  the  prayer- 
meeting  and  holy  Sabbaths  of  early 
days.  Everybody  sung,  whether  they 
knew  how  or  not ;  indeed,  those  who 
had  not  the  least  idea  where  the  tune 
would  rise  or  fall  to  next,  sang  most 
lustily.  There  was  old  Mrs.  Bowen,  who 
devoted  her  life  to  scolding  her  grand- 
children, actually  with  a  tear  rolling 
down  her  cheek ;  and  Jerry  Jones,  the 
blacksmith,  who  was  seldom  known  to 
open  his  lips  without  an  oath  rolling 
from  between  them,  now  ringing  forth 
from  his  mighty  lungs  the  praise  of  that 
sacred  name  he  daily  took  in  vain. 


SOMETHING   NEW   IN   EAGLEVILLE.        15 

After  the  hymn  there  was  a  short  por- 
tion of  Scripture  read,  and  then  followed 
a  prayer.  It  was  not  what  people  are  in 
the  habit  of  calling  "  a  beautiful  prayer ;" 
its  words  were  as  plain  and  homely  as 
the  everyday  words  of  the  people  who 
said  "  Amen,"  but  it  led  some  souls  from 
that  Eagleville  school-house  nearer  to 
God's  mercy-seat  than  they  had  gone 
for  many,  many  a  day. 

When  the  stranger  stood  up  to  speak, 
there  was  a  general  clearing  of  throats 
and  change  of  position,  and  certain  half- 
grown  boys  in  the  back  seat,  who  did  not 
"  see  much  fun  "  in  singing  and  praying, 
but  had  tried  to  keep  each  other  quiet  by 
pinching  and  making  faces,  got  up  to  go 
out. 

"Oh,  boys,  wait  a  little.  I  am  just 
going  to  say  something  that  I  want  you 
to  hear.  I  am  sent  to  speak  to  the  boys 
and  girls,  and  about  boys  and  girls,  so  if 
anybody  must  leave  the  room  I  had  rather 
it  were  the  grown  folks." 


16  PHIL   DERBY. 

The  gentleman  said  this  with  a  cordial 
tone  in  his  voice  and  a  kindly  smile  on 
his  face,  but  then  everybody  in  the  room 
turned  to  see  what  boys  they  were,  and  a 
buzz  of  amusement  passed  from  bench  to 
bench.  It  was  with  very  sheepish  looks 
the  lads  slunk  back  to  their  seats,  and 
after  that  I  need  hardly  say  they  neither 
pinched  nor  made  faces. 

The  speaker  announced  that  he  had 
come  as  a  messenger  from  the  American 
Sunday-school  Union ;  that,  as  he  had 
mentioned  to  a  good  many  of  his  hearers, 
his  object  in  coming  to  Eagleville  was  to 
start  a  Sunday-school.  He  told  them 
simply  the  great  object  to  be  accom- 
plished by  a  Sunday-school,  the  benefit 
it  would  bring  upon  the  children,  the 
parents,  the  place,  for  this  world  as  well 
as  the  next.  When  he  had  spoken  of 
these  things  fully,  he  asked  who  now  was 
willing  to  take  hold  with  him  of  this 
good  work, — "who  in  this  room  loved 


SOMETHING   NEW  IN  EAGLEVIL.LE.        17 

God  and  his  own  children  enough  to 
undertake  this  ?" 

There  was  a  long  pause ;  some  coughed, 
some  turned  away  their  faces  for  fear  the 
speaker  might  address  them  by  name, 
and  a  good  many  would  have  gone  out 
had  they  dared,  but  maybe  they  would 
have  been  called  back  as  the  boys  had 
been;  nobody  could  tell. 

At  last,  when  the  pause  had  made  every 
one  present  uncomfortable,  a  man  stood 
up,  looked  at  the  missionary,  and  said, 

"  I'll  join  you,  sir ;  I  want  to  see  a 
Sunday-school  in  Eagleville.  Now,  let's 
hear  what  you  want  me  to  do." 

It  was  Captain  Marks. 

The  ice  was  broken ;  one  or  two  other 
men  and  half  a  dozen  young  women  now 
stood  up  and  offered  their  services.  The 
missionary  looked  glad.  "  Now,"  said 
he,  "  with  God's  blessing,  friends,  we'll 
soon  have  a  thriving  Sunday-school  in 
Eagleville." 

The  congregation  were  dismissed,  but 
2*  B 


18  PHIL,   DERRY. 

the  few  who  had  enlisted  in  the  work 
lingered  behind  to  learn  something  of 
the  plans  and  duties  to  be  carried  out. 
Captain  Marks  was  to  be  superintendent, 
and  the  other  volunteers  were  charged  to 
find  their  classes  and  gather  them  to- 
gether in  the  school-house  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday. 

"  Now  I  call  that  tip-top,"  one  of  the 
noisy  boys  had  said,  when  fairly  out  of 
the  building.  "  It's  almost  better  than  a 
circus;  it  lasts  longer,  you  see,  and  then, 
to  have  a  Sunday-school  reg'lar !  why, 
it'll  seem  more  like  folks." 


CHAPTER  III. 

JAKE  DERBY'S  WIFE. 

)T  the  further  end  of  the  main 
street  stood  a  row  of  very  com- 
mon dwellings.  They  were  not 
old, — indeed,  nothing  in  Eagle- 
ville  was  old, — but  the  unpainted  fronts, 
the  unshuttered  windows,  the  broken 
door-steps,  and  level  extent  of  mud  be- 
fore these  houses,  made  them  seem  very 
unattractive  abodes.  Several  pigs  wan- 
dered about  in  this  muddy  waste,  and 
appeared  to  enjoy  it  vastly,  and  several 
children,  so  like  the  pigs  that  it  required 
close  scrutiny  to  tell  which  were  children 
and  which  pigs,  made  mud  pies  and 
clapped  their  hands  for  joy.  This  de- 
scription might  serve  with  truth  for  any 
day  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five, 
excepting  those  months  in  which  snow 

19 


20  PHIL   DERRY. 

answered  in  place  of  mud  for  the  chil- 
dren to  play  and  the  pigs  to  wallow  in, 
but  it  is  given  with  special  reference  to  a 
morning  in  early  spring — the  morning 
which  followed  the  meeting  in  the  school- 
house  described  in  the  last  chapter. 

A  gentleman  came  along  the  road  and 
bent  his  steps  toward  the  door  of  the  first 
house  in  the  row.  The  pigs  moved  slowly 
out  of  his  way,  and  the  children  stood 
still  and  looked  at  him  with  shy  surprise ; 
but  when  he  patted  the  head  of  one, 
smiled  in  the  blue  eyes  of  another,  and 
asked  a  third  what  her  name  was,  they 
all  smiled  in  return,  and  knew  they  had 
found  a  friend. 

"  Be  you  the  man  that's  goin'  to  make 
a  Sunday-school  ?"  asked  the  boldest  of 
the  group. 

"Yes,  my  little  man;  I  want  you  to 
go  next  Sunday  afternoon  to  the  school- 
house  and  help  make  it,  will  you  ?" 

The  boy  hung  his  head  and  did  not 
answer,  and  the  missionary,  hearing  at 


JAKE  DERBY'S  WIFE.  21 

last  a  response  to  his  thrice  repeated 
knock,  entered  the  house. 

A  woman  sat  in  a  creaky  rocking- 
chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  She 
was  neither  old  nor  ugly,  but  with  her 
dingy-brown  calico  wrapper  and  her  un- 
combed brown  hair  she  looked  as  if  she 
might  be  just  a  part  of  the  mud  floor  that 
had  bulged  up  from  the  centre.  She  rose 
when  the  missionary  entered,  wiped  off 
the  top  of  a  big  box,  and  motioned  for 
him  to  take  a  seat. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Derry,  I  believe)"  said 
the  visitor.  The  woman  nodded,  and 
without  a  word  went  on  with  the  occu- 
pation in  which  she  had  been  interrupted, 
namely,  putting  a  patch  in  a  very  dingy 
pair  of  pantaloons. 

"  You  have  some  fine  little  children, 
Mrs.  Derry,  if  those  are  yours  that  I 
found  playing  just  outside  the  door." 

"They'll  do  well  enough,"  said  the 
woman. 

"I  hope  you  will  let  them  join  the 


22  PHIL    DERRY. 

Sunday-school  which  is  about  to  be 
formed  in  town." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  shall  take  that 
trouble,"  was  the  not  very  encouraging 
answer. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Derry  this  morning,  and 
he  said  he  would  do  all  he  could  to  help 
along  the  good  work,"  said  the  mission- 
ary. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then,"  said  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  who,  having  now 
finished  her  patch,  held  up  the  garment 
before*  her  with  satisfaction.  "  If  Mr. 
Derry  said  that,  what's  the  need  of  your 
coming  to  me  ?" 

The  visitor  hesitated  for  an  answer, 
but  was  relieved  from  the  need  of  mak- 
ing any  by  a  shout  from  one  corner : 

"  I'll  be  there,  you  see  if  I  don't.  I 
like  what  you  said  last  night,  sir,  first 
rate,  and  I  am  goin',  no  matter  what  ma 
says." 

The  voice  came  from  the  top  of  a  pile 
of  potatoes,  which  was  the  principal  arti- 


JAKE  BERRY'S  WIPE.  23 

tie  of  furniture  in  the  room.  The  mis- 
sionary looked  toward  it,  and  there  dis- 
covered one  of  the  very  boys  whom  he 
had  called  back  when  they  were  trying 
to  slink  out  of  the  school-house  the  pre- 
vious evening.  Perched  on  the  top  of 
this  curious  seat,  the  fellow  had  been 
watching  the  stranger  with  keen  eyes 
ever  since  his  entrance. 

"  Clear  out,  you  Phil !"  exclaimed  the 
mother,  crossly ;  and  with  one  leap  from 
the  pile  of  potatoes  and  another  across 
the  room  he  was  out  of  the  door. 

The  visitor  tried  in  vain  to  rouse  Mrs. 
Derry  to  some  feeling  of  interest  in  the 
object  so  dear  to  him,  the  starting  of  the 
Sunday-school.  Then  he  opened  a  pack- 
age that  he  had  brought  with  him  and 
displayed  some  Bibles,  expressing  a  hope 
that  she  would  buy  one. 

"  No,"  said  the  surly  woman.  "  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  heathen  ?  I've  got  a  Bible 
somewhere  around.  I  had  it  before  my 
Phil  was  born." 


24  PHIL  DERBY. 

With  more  energy  than  she  had  hith- 
erto shown,  she  rose,  took  a  bunch  of 
keys,  and  began  a  search  for  the  object 
that  was  to  prove  that  she  was  not  a 
heathen.  One  box  and  then  another  was 
opened  without  success ;  then  she  passed 
into  a  back  room,  and  was  gone  some 
time.  At  last  she  came  back  with  an 
air  of  triumph  on  her  face  and  a  very 
tattered  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Here  it  is.  It  isn't  a  Bible  exactly, 
but  it  is  about  the  same  thing ;  there's 
as  good  readin'  there  as  you'll  find  any- 
where, mister,  and  I've  had  that  book 
for  nigh  twelve  years." 

The  missionary  could  not  help  smiling 
as  he  received  into  his  hand  the  much 
stained  and  torn  copy  of  a  collection  of 
hymns.  He  spoke  then  earnestly  of  the 
untold  value  of  the  word  of  God,  and 
urged  Mrs.  Derry  to  purchase,  for  her 
own  sake  and  the  sake  of  her  husband 
and  children,  one  of  the  Bibles  he  had 
with  him. 


JAKE  DERBY'S  WIPE.  25 

"  Can't  afford  to  throw  away  money 
on  books,"  was  the  answer. 

"  But  some  of  these  are  very  cheap ;" 
and  here  the  guest  cast  a  look  around 
the  room,  taking  in  its  pile  of  potatoes, 
its  other  pile  of  dirt,  and  the  faded  dress 
of  its  owner,  and  said, 

"  If  you  feel  that  you  are  indeed  too 
poor  to  buy  one  of  these,  I  am  author- 
ized to  give  you  a  copy.  May  I  hope 
that  you  will  read  it  diligently  and  with 
prayer  ?" 

As  he  spoke  Mrs.  Derry's  cheeks  and 
forehead  flushed  to  a  deep  crimson  as  she 
stood  up  and  looked  in  the  face  of  her 
visitor : 

"Too  poor,  eh?  Who  dared  to  tell 
you  that  Jake  Derry  was  too  poor  to  buy 
a  Bible — a  hundred  of  'em  if  he  liked  ? 
Here,  hand  out  the  very  best  one  of  the 
lot  and  tell  me  the  price." 

The  missionary  did  so. 

"  Is  that  the  best  you  have  ?  Come, 
I  mean  what  I  say.  You  shall  not  go 


26  PHIL    DEERY. 

from  this  house  and  say  that  you  made  a 
present  of  a  Bible  to  Jake  Derry's  wife." 

"  This  is  indeed  the  handsomest  one  I 
have,  madam,"  was  the  reply  as  the  sur- 
prised visitor  held  out  a  well-bound  copy 
of  the  Book  of  books. 

Mrs.  Derry  took  it  without  a  word ; 
then  she  fumbled  in  her  pocket,  and 
drawing  out  a  tarnished  but  well- filled 
purse  counted  the  price  and  placed  it  in 
the  missionary's  hand. 

"  Now  go,"  she  said,  "  and  say,  if  you 
dare,  to  anybody  in  Eagleville  that  you 
offered  a  Bible  in  charity  to  Jake  Berry's 
wife." 

The  missionary's  face  was  grave  as  he 
turned  from  the  door;  and  as  the  chil- 
dren and  pigs  had  moved  farther  on  in 
their  mud-field,  he  had  no  interruption 
to  the  sorrowful  thoughts  that  found  their 
way  to  his  heart.  The  precious  book 
had  been  purchased,  not  for  its  own 
sake,  but  for  pride.  Would  it  be  read  ? 
Would  its  promises  ever  comfort,  its 


JAKE  BERRY'S  WIFE.  27 

teachings  guide,  its  threatenings  warn, 
any  member  of  that  household? 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  anxious 
question,  unless  in  the  remembrance  of 
those  blessed  words : 

"As  the  rain  cometh  down,  and  the 
snow  from  heaven,  and  returneth  not 
thither,  but  watereth  the  earth,  and  mak- 
eth  it  bring  forth  and  bud,  that  it  may 
give  seed  to  the  sower,  and  bread  to  the 
eater : 

"  So  shall  my  word  be  that  goeth  forth 
out  of  my  mouth  :  it  shall  not  return  unto 
me  void,  but  it  shall  accomplish  that 
which  I  please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the 
thing  whereto  I  sent  it."  Isa.  Iv.  10,  11. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAKING  A  START. 

^ 

"INURING  the  remainder  of  the  week 
Captain  Marks,  more  perplexed 
by  the  new  office  thrust  upon  him 
than  ever  he  had  been  by  the 
manifold  duties  of  landlord,  merchant, 
and  postmaster,  kept  his  spectacles,  to- 
gether with  a  bran  new  Bible,  and  Union 
Bible  dictionary,  on  a  shelf  behind  the 
counter  to  be  handy  for  the  odd  minutes 
he  could  catch  now  and  then  through  the 
day.  A  very  serious  business  it  was,  this 
being  appointed  superintendent  of  a  Sun- 
day-school, and  Captain  Marks  scratched 
his  head,  wiped  his  glasses,  and  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  his  books  with  in- 
creasing dread  of  failure  as  Sunday  ap- 
proached. He  wished  more  than  once 
that  he  had  not  stood  up  in  meeting  and 

28 


MAKING   A    START.  29 

offered  his  services ;  he  grumbled  at  him- 
self for  such  soft-heartedness,  and  at  the 
missionary  for  having  drawn  him  into 
such  a  piece  of  work.  It  was  too  late  to 
"  back  out  of  it,"  as  he  said  to  his  wife, 
for  there  was  not  another  man  in  the 
place  who  would  or  could  undertake  it, 
and  the  missionary  himself  had  gone  to 
a  town  more  than  twelve  miles  distant. 
To  be  sure  there  was  Martha,  who  was 
going  to  be  one  of  the  teachers,  and  who 
had  good  strong  lungs  of  her  own  to  start 
the  singing.  He'd  have  to  try ;  and  if  he 
broke  down,  why,  everybody  in  Eagle- 
ville  would  laugh  at  him,  that  was  all. 

Sunday  afternoon  came,  neither  sooner 
nor  later  because  of  the  captain's  fears. 
The  school-house  was  even  better  filled 
than  at  the  evening  meeting.  Not  only 
had  each  teacher  been  doing  her  best  to 
collect  a  larger  class  than  anybody  else, 
but  a  good  many  grown-up  idlers,  both 
men  and  women,  who  had  nothing  in 
particular  to  do  with  themselves  on  Sun- 

3* 


30  PHIL   DEREY. 

day  afternoons,   dropped   in  to  find  out 
what  these  strange  goings  on  might  be. 

The  hymn  was  gone  through  remark- 
ably well.  The  captain  gave  it  out  line 
by  line,  and  Martha  raised  the  good  old 
tune  of  "  Zion,"  one  which  affords  unu- 
sual scope  for  making  melodious  noise  for 
those  who  don't  know  one  note  from  an- 
other. Oh  how  they  did  sing!  Then 
the  captain  ordered  all  present  to  kneel 
and  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Now,  it 
happened  that  there  were  many  in  the 
school-house  that  day  that  did  not  know 
the  Lord's  prayer  any  better  than  they 
knew  the  tune  "  Zion,"  and  the  effort  to 
lead  so  many  unruly  voices  through  its 
petitions  proved  too  much  for  the  super- 
intendent; he  stopped  short  in  the  middle. 
There  was  an  instant's  hush,  and  then 
the  resolute  voice  of  Mrs.  Mercy  Striker 
took  up  the  prayer  and  carried  it  safely 
through.  Mrs.  Striker  was  known  in 
Eagleville  as  an  advocate  of  women's 
rights,  and  she  was  heard  to  remark  on 


MAKING   A  START.  31 

more  than  one  occasion  after  this  that  if 
the  Sunday-school  missionary  had  had 
the  gumption  to  put  the  business  in  the 
hands  of  a  thorough-going,  sensible  wo- 
man, it  would  have  been  sure  of  success. 
The  buzz  in  that  rough  school-room  a 
few  minutes  later  was  pleasant  to  hear, 
and  the  little  groups  of  clean,  rosy  faces, 
gathered  about  the  respective  teachers, 
was  a  sight  to  have  gladdened  the  hearts 
of  those  whose  money  and  prayers  had 
sent  the  missionary  to  that  remote  West- 
ern town.  Phil  Derry  was  there  accord- 
ing to  promise,  just  about  as  brown  and 
dingy  as  when  he  tumbled  off  his  moth- 
er's potato  pile  to  announce  his  approval 
of  the  movement ;  he  had  the  fine  new 
Bible  in  his  hand,  however,  and  strutted 
along  with  as  much  complacency  as  if  its 
clean  bright  binding  had  been  a  suit  of 
broadcloth  on  his  back.  Phil's  younger 
brothers  and  sisters  were  not  there,  for 
the  lazy  mother  thought  it  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  dressing  them  clean  "just  for 


32  PHIL   DEREY. 

the  notion  of  a  stranger,  who  mightn't 
be  any  better  than  other  folks,  for  all  his 
grand  talk." 

Phil  was  placed  with  four  other  large 
boys  under  the  care  of  Miss  Amanda 
Millett,  a  meek  woman,  fair-haired  and 
small  of  stature,  who  never  would  have 
dared  so  bold  an  undertaking,  but  that, 
being  the  schoolmaster's  sister,  she  felt  it 
due  to  her  brother's  dignity  that  she 
should  take  part  in  this  scheme  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Eagleville  youth.  Miss 
Millett's  boys  had  so  much  frolic  in  their 
bones  that  the  poor  lady  found  it  tiresome 
work  to  get  through  the  lesson,  so  she 
brought  it  to  a  speedy  close,  and  prom- 
ised that  if  they  would  be  very  quiet  she 
would  tell  them  a  Bible  story.  They  all 
promised. 

"  Let's  have  it  about  the  man  that  was 
swallowed  by  a  whale,"  suggested  one 
boy. 

"  No,"  said  his  next  neighbor ;  "  I'd  a 
sight  rather  hear  about  little  Samuel. 


MAKING  A   START.  33 

We've  got  a  picture  of  him  at  home ;  he's 
saying  his  prayers,  and  has  got  such  a 
beautiful  red  shirt  on." 

"  Samuel !"  exclaimed  Phil  Derry,  in 
a  very  slighting  tone.  "  I  say,  Miss  Mil- 
lett,  tell  us  about  that  feller  that  killed  a 
thousand  people  with  the  jaw-bone  of 
an  ass.  That's  a  first-rate  story." 

"  It  was  Samson  that  did  so,  I  believe," 
suggested  Miss  Millett,  in  a  very  doubt- 
ful tone. 

"  No,  'twa'nt  Samson,  nuther,"  said  the 
boy  who  had  proposed  the  story  of  Jonah. 
"  'Twas  Goliath.  Goliath  was  a  giant, 
and  anybody  might  know  it  would  take 
a  giant  to  kill  a  thousand  men  with  an 
ass's  jaw-bone." 

Meek  little  Miss  Millett  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  her  Bible  in  perplexity ;  she 
did  not  venture  to  be  positive  about  Sam- 
son, in  opposition  to  big  Tom  Bryan's 
rather  surly  declaration,  and  yet  it  was 
not  clear  to  her  mind  that  Goliath  ever 
performed  such  a  deed.  While  she  hesi- 


34  PHIL  DERRY. 

tated,  Phil  opened  his  fine  Bible,  sure 
that  he  could  find  a  settlement  of  the 
question  there  at  once.  The  other  boys 
got  into  a  loud  and  angry  squabble  of  dis- 
cussion, and  the  teacher  took  the  opportu- 
nity of  stepping  up  to  the  platform  to 
lay  the  vexed  question  before  the  super- 
intendent. 

Captain  Marks  looked  grave ;  he  took 
off  his  glasses,  carefully  polished  them 
and  returned  them  to  their  place, 
cleared  his  throat,  blew  his  nose,  and  fi- 
nally repeated, 

"  Who  was  it  that  slew  a  thousand  men 
with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass?  Well, 
Miss  Millett,  I  should  say — my  opinion 
is — that  it  was  Samson,  but  the  fact 
is,"  and  here  the  captain  lowered  his 
voice,  "  it's  going  on  ten  years  now  since 
I  came  to  Eagleville,  and  our  religious 
privileges  have  been  scarce." 

"Very  scarce,"  interposed  Miss  Mil- 
lett, feelingly. 

"And  so,"  continued  Captain  Marks, 


MAKING   A  START.  35 

"  those  Bible  histories  have  got  kind  of 
mixed  up  in  my  mind.  However,"  re- 
suming his  usual  tone,  "I  should  say 
that  Samson  is  the  man  you  have  refer- 
ence to." 

Thus  fortified,  the  mild  little  teacher 
returned  to  her  seat,  and  was  presently 
fairly  launched  on  the  story  of  Samson's 
exploit.  She  had  not  reached  the  most 
interesting  part  when  the  voice  of  the 
superintendent  called  the  school  to  order. 
Another  hymn  was  sung,  and  then  the 
captain  made  a  few  remarks.  He  was 
glad,  he  said,  to  see  such  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  teachers  and  scholars  turn  out  on 
this  interesting  occasion.  He  hoped  all 
would  be  in  their  places  on  the  follow- 
ing Sabbath  afternoon.  "  But,"  said  he, 
glancing  round  at  the  different  teachers, 
"  I  feel  that  this  is  a  big  work  for  us 
to  undertake — bigger  than  any  business 
that's  carried  on  in  Eagleville;  and  I 
feel,  my  friends,  I  feel,"  and  here  the 
speaker  was  conscious  of  increasing  hus- 


36  PHIL  DERRY. 

kiness  in  his  voice,  "  that  if  we  calculate 
to  pull  through  we'll  have  to  look  to  God 
almighty  for  help." 

Here  one  or  two  fervent  "Amens" 
from  among  the  hearers  gave  opportu- 
nity for  a  pause. 

"It's  my  opinion,"  continued  the 
superintendent,  with  growing  courage, 
"  that  we,  the  teachers  and  grown  folks 
generally,  ought  to  have  a  meeting  here, 
say  one  evening  every  week,  to  study  up 
our  Bibles  and  have  a  word  of  prayer. 
Maybe  others  don't  think  as  I  do,  but— 
The  pause  was  at  once  filled  up  by  a  lit- 
tle hum  of  approval,  and  Mrs.  Mercy 
Striker  settled  the  matter  by  coming  out 
from  her  seat,  taking  a  stand  by  the  cap- 
tain, and  saying, 

"  That's  the  very  thing ;  that's  just 
what  I  should  have  proposed  if  I'd  had 
the  management  of  this.  So  on  Wed- 
nesday evening — I  suppose  that'll  suit 
you?"  in  an  aside  to  Captain  Marks — 
"we  are  to  meet  here.  Be  sure,  all  of 


MAKING    A  STAET.  37 

you,  to  bring  your  Bibles  along,  as  many 
as  have  got  'em." 

There  was  more  than  one  giggle  as 
Mrs.  Striker  returned  to  her  seat,  and 
the  superintendent  looked  perplexed  and 
wiped  his  glasses.  He  made  no  further 
remark,  however,  on  the  subject  which 
had  been  so  briskly  disposed  of,  but  called 
upon  Martha  to  lead  off  in  the  doxology, 
and  then  dismissed  the  children. 

The  Eagleville  Sunday-school  was 
likely  to  live. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MBS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS. 

'HE  loungers  at  the  hotel  stove 
found  a  good  deal  to  interest  them 
during  the  ensuing  week.  They 
puffed  away  at  their  pipes  and 
tilted  their  chairs  back  and  watched  the 
busy  landlord  at  his  work  as  usual,  and 
meanwhile  kept  their  ears  open  to  catch 
the  remarks  of  the  numerous  customers, 
which  all  somehow  turned  upon  the 
event  of  Sunday  afternoon.  The  store 
was  the  special  place  for  gossip  in  Eagle- 
ville.  If  a  woman  got  hold  of  a  bit  of 
news,  she  straightway  found  herself  in 
need  of  a  bar  of  soap  or  a  spool  of  thread, 
and  hurried  to  Captain  Marks's  counter 
to  repeat  the  story.  If  a  man  wanted  to 
learn  the  ins  and  outs  of  his  neighbours' 

38 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  39 

political  opinions,  the  pretext  of  a  paper 
of  tobacco,  or  maybe  a  glance  at  the 
latest  Eastern  paper,  brought  him  to  the 
same  spot  to  gain  the  desired  informa- 
tion. The  boys  and  girls  came  there  to 
buy  their  chewing-gum  and  taffy,  and  to 
grumble  to  those  they  met  about  the 
schoolmaster  or  listen  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  their  elders ;  and  strangers  stop- 
ping in  the  hotel  from  one  train  to  the 
next  could  learn  all  they  needed  to  know 
of  Eagleville  matters  by  sitting  for  an 
hour  among  the  idlers  around  the  stove. 

"I  say,  captain,"  said  Jenks  as  he 
swallowed  his  regular  glass  of  spirits  on 
Monday  morning,  "  this  'ere  new  business 
o'  yourn  don't  agree  very  well  with  the 
old  one ;"  and  he  nedded  significantly  at 
certain  bottles  and  kegs. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that, 
Jenks." 

"  Why,  you've  set  to  work  to  teach 
the  youngsters  the  Bible,  haven't  you  ?" 

Captain  Marks  nodded. 


40  PHIL    DEKRY. 

"  I  can't  say,"  continued  Jenks,  "  that 
I  am  a  good  hand  to  tell  what's  in  the 
Bible  and  what  ain't,  but  I've  heard 
more  than  one  of  these  temperance  men 
talk  in  my  day ;  they  do  come  down  on 
liquor  traffic  pretty  hard,  and  the  worst 
of  it  is  that  they  clinch  every  hard  word 
of  their  own  by  a  text  from  the  Bible. 
How  do  you  get  round  that,  Marks  ?" 

"  It's  no  use  getting  into  an  argument," 
said  the  captain.  "  I  offered  to  help 
along  the  school  a  bit,  to  be  sure,  but 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  regular 
business,  Jenks — nothing  at  all." 

Jenks  chuckled  and  turned  his  back 
to  the  counter  to  give  his  undivided 
attention  to  his  pipe.  The  captain  moved 
about,  arranging  his  goods,  assorting  the 
letters,  dusting  the  counter,  and  other- 
wise getting  ready  for  customers,  but 
with  compressed  lips  and  a  cloud  on  his 
usually  good-natured  face. 

The  door  opened  and  a  middle-aged 
woman  came  in :  "  Where's  that  piece 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  41 

of  blue  calico  you  showed  me  the  other 
day,  captain  ?  I  want  to  try  a  bit,  and 
see  if  the  color  runs ;  if  it  stands  wash- 
ing, I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  buy  a  dress 
of  it  for  my  Jane.  That'll  do,  thank 
you.  By  the  way,  captain,  what  about 
this  Sunday-school  business  ?  My  chil- 
dren came  home  yesterday  just  full  of 
it.  I  suppose  we'll  be  having  a  revival 
of  religion  here  in  town  shortly,  eh  ?" 

Two  or  three  men  had  come  in  while 
the  blue  calico  was  undergoing  examina- 
tion. At  this  remark  they  all  laughed, 
and  one  said, 

"  Where  in  Eagleville  would  you  find 
enough  religion  to  revive,  Mrs.  Callahan? 
You  might  as  well  expect  to  see  a  moun- 
tain rise  up  in  the  middle  of  the  prairie, 
according  to  my  thinking." 

"  I  don't  believe  we  shall  get  so  far  as 
having  a  revival,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but 
if  we  can  keep  the  children  out  of  mis- 
chief an  hour  or  two  on  Sunday,  and 
teach  them  to  be  something  better  than 

4* 


42  PHIL   DERRY. 

heathens,  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  Ea- 
gleville,  won't  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Callahan  nodded,  took  her  scrap 
of  calico,  and  went  out. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  Mrs.  Mercy 
Striker  appeared  in  the  store.  She  gave 
an  energetic  nod  of  greeting  to  the  group 
of  men  in  the  corner,  then  turned  toward 
Captain  Marks. 

"  I  hurried  with  the  washing,"  she 
said,  "  and  here  I  am  ready  for  business 
— the  books,  you  know.  I  shall  make  it 
a  point  to  call  at  every  house  in  town 
before  the  week  is  out ;  and  if  we  don't 
get  up  a  library  for  that  Sunday-school — " 

Mrs.  Striker's  unfinished  sentence  was 
more  impressive  than  the  longest  speech. 
The  hearers  felt  sure  that  that "  if"  meant 
some  terrible  punishment  to  the  com- 
munity in  case  it  failed  to  provide  the 
library 

"  There's  the  paper  I  made  out,"  she 
said,  after  pausing  a  moment  to  let  her 
unspoken  threat  take  due  effect.  "  Read 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  43 

it,  and  then  put  your  name  down ; 
you'll  be  liberal,  of  course,  to  give  the 
thing  a  fair  start." 

Captain  Marks  took  the  paper,  ad- 
justed his  glasses,  and  then  slowly  wrote 
his  name  and  the  amount  of  his  offering, 
Mrs.  Striker  standing  with  her  keen  eyes 
steadily  fixed  on  the  hand  that  held  the 
pen. 

"  Not  bad,"  she  said,  complacently,  as 
she  received  her  -  paper  again.  "  You 
may  as  well  hand  me  the  money  at  once, 
so  as  to  save  the  trouble  of  my  coming 
again." 

The  captain  opened  his  drawer  and 
quietly  counted  it  out. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  this  woman  of 
business,  turning  toward  the  loungers, 
"  of  course  you  all  will  contribute  toward 
this  good  cause.  Here's  a  pencil,  Jenks ; 
it's  for  the  good  of  your  own  children, 
you  understand.  There !  pass  the  paper 
along.  You  can  afford  something  hand- 
some, Carter." 


44  PHIL   DERBY. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Striker,"  answered  Carter, 
sheepishly,  pulling  his  soft  hat  down 
over  his  face  as  he  spoke.  "  Sunday- 
school  libraries  are  not  at  all  in  my  line ; 
you  can't  expect  a  man  to  give  his  money 
to  what  he  don't  believe  in." 

"  No  matter ;  I  shall  call  on  your  wife, 
Carter.  It  don't  make  the  least  difference 
which  of  you  I  get  it  from,"  was  the  cool 
reply. 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  laughter 
at  Carter's  expense,  and  the  rest  of  the 
men  thought  it  best  to  allow  Mrs.  Striker 
to  put  down  their  names  for  small 
amounts  rather  than  expose  themselves 
to  ridicule.  Everybody  felt  relieved  when 
she  folded  the  paper,  nodded  her  satisfac- 
tion, and  passed  through  the  door  to  pro- 
ceed on  her  round  of  calls. 

"  A  thoroughgoing  woman  that,"  said 
Jenks  as  soon  as  the  green  sunbonnet  was 
out  of  sight.  The  words  came  with  a 
sigh,  for  Jenks  had  his  pocket-book  open 
and  was  considering  how  much  tobacco 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  45 

and  whisky  he  had  sacrificed  to  the 
Sunday-school  cause. 

"  Rather  too  much  so,"  was  Carter's 
reply.  Carter  was  thinking  about  his 
meek  little  wife  and  the  certainty  that 
Mrs.  Striker  would  frighten  her  into 
giving  toward  the  library  whatever 
money  she  happened  to  have  in  the  house. 

Ah,  well !  it  is  true  that  Mercy  Striker 
was  not  one  of  the  Marys  who  are  con- 
tent to  sit  lovingly  at  the  feet  of  Jesus 
drinking  in  his  words  of  blessing.  Such 
are  far  more  attractive  than  their  bustling 
sisters,  but  then,  in  times  like  ours  and 
in  places  like  Eagle ville,  there  is  work  to 
be  done  for  the  Lord  which  requires  the 
talents  of  active  Marthas,  like  this  work, 
wherein  the  Marys  could  achieve  little 
success. 

From  house  to  house  went  Mrs.  Striker 
with  her  subscription  paper.  It  was 
work  that  exactly  suited  her.  It  was  not 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  collect 
money  for  books  from  such  people  as  she 


46  PHIL    DERRY. 

had  to  deal  with,  but  she  was  a  wise  wo- 
man in  her  way,  and  had  just  the  right 
word  to  use  in  each  particular  case.  She 
found  old  Jim  Gardiner  out  behind  his 
house  feebly  striving  to  chop  his  wood. 
She  explained  the  object  of  her  visit  with- 
out any  waste  of  words : 

"  What  will  you  give,  Jim  ?  I'll  put 
your  name  down,  seeing  you're  busy. 
How  much  ?" 

Jim  paused,  and  leaning  on  his  axe- 
handle  turned  his  nearly  sightless  eyes 
in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 

"  You've  come  to  the  wrong  place,"  he 
said,  "  to  ask  for  money  to  buy  books.  I 
can't  see  to  read,  and  my  old  woman 
never  learned ;  we  haven't  any  children 
to  send  to  the  school.  What  have  we  to 
do  with  the  books,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Why,  Jim  Gardiner !  I  didn't  think 
you  were  the  man  to  look  at  things  in 
that  selfish  way.  You've  made  a  good 
deal  of  money  here  in  Eagleville,  and 
you  ought  to  do  your  part  in  an  under- 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  47 

taking  for  the  public  good  like  this.  Be- 
sides, I  know  you  used  to  be  a  great 
reader;  and  if  you'll  put  down  your  name 
for  something  handsome,  I'll  engage  to 
send  one  of  my  children  regular  to  read 
aloud  to  you  and  your  wife." 

The  hands  trembled  that  held  the  axe- 
handle.  The  old  man's  pleasures  were 
few  now,  and,  as  his  visitor  had  said,  he 
formerly  had  taken  real  pleasure  in  read- 
ing. Might  it  not  be  a  good  way  of  in- 
vesting a  little  money  ?  "  You'll  keep 
your  promise,  I  suppose,  about  sending 
the  children  to  read  to  me  now  and  then?" 
The  old  man  fumbled  in  his  pocket  while 
he  spoke,  and  brought  out  a  handful  of 
change. 

"  I  have  the  name  of  being  as  good  as 
my  word,"  said  Mrs.  Striker,  sharply. 
Her  eyes  twinkled  as  she  received  the 
generous  contribution,  and  she  said, 
"  Thank  you,  Jim,"  in  an  unusually 
mild  tone  as  she  turned  away. 

The  next  call  was  upon  Mrs.  Purdy. 


48  PHIL    DERRY. 

This  person  was  found  in  her  kitchen 
bending  over  the  wash-tub. 

"  I'll  not  disturb  you,"  said  the  visitor, 
picking  her  way  across  the  sloppy  floor 
to  a  chair.  "  Go  on  with  your  work 
while  I  talk." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  I'm  just  about  through, 
and  I  may  as  well  rest  myself  with  a  lit- 
tle smoke  while  I  listen  to  you,  neigh- 
bour," was  the  civil  reply. 

Mrs.  Purdy  seized  a  soiled  towel  from 
the  pile  of  still  unwashed  articles,  wiped 
her  arms,  and  then  took  a  pipe  from  the 
mantel-shelf,  with  which  she  sat  down  on 
one  end  of  her  wash -bench,  and  looked 
toward  her  visitor  as  if  to  invite  her  to 
open  the  conversation. 

"  I'm  out  collecting  money  for  a  Sun- 
day-school library,  and  I  called  to  see 
what  you  were  willing  to  do." 

"  Sunday-school  library,  eh  ?"  was  the 
surprised  response.  "  Well,  I  never !" 
Mrs.  Purdy  smoked  away  for  some  min- 
utes in  silence,  expecting  Mrs.  Striker  to 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  49 

explain  the  subject,  and  perhaps  flatter 
her  by  a  little  coaxing ;  but  Mrs.  Striker 
did  no  such  thing.  At  last  the  hostess 
removed  the  pipe  and  expressed  her 
mind: 

"  I  ain't  one  to  go  in  for  new-fangled 
notions.  Our  folks  has  lived  here  in 
town  these  dozen  years  without  a  Sun- 
day-school, a  library,  or  any  sich,  and  I 
guess  we  can  go  on  and  live  a  dozen  more 
without  them." 

"  But  for  the  sake  of  your  children ; 
do  you  want  them  to  grow  up  as  heathen- 
ish as — " 

"As  I  be?"  said  Mrs.  Purdy,  with 
ready  understanding  of  the  implied  com- 
pliment. "Yes,  so  they  make  a  good 
living  I'm  satisfied.  I  don't  see  but 
what  folks  who  don't  pretend  to  be  better 
than  their  neighbours  gets  along  as  well 
as  those  who  start  to  be  religious  all  of  a 
sudden." 

This  speech  was  meant  as  an  answering 
hit  to  Mrs.  Striker's  unfinished  sugges- 


50  PHIL   DEERY. 

tion,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  disturb  the 
visitor  one  bit ;  she  only  sat  quiet  for  a 
moment,  considering  what  new  argument 
to  use  with  this  hard-headed  woman. 
The  entrance  of  Mr.  Purdy  saved  her 
the  trouble. 

"  You  here  I"  exclaimed  the  master  of 
the  house.  "  I  know  your  business,  then, 
and  it  does  you  credit,  Mrs.  Striker;  it 
does  indeed.  If  all  the  women-folks 
took  as  much  interest  in  the  public  good, 
we'd  soon  have  a  better  town." 

Mr.  Purdy  asked  to  see  the  paper,  and 
in  spite  of  his  wife's  frowns  and  gestures 
put  down  his  name  for  several  dollars. 

"  I  haven't  the  money  by  me,"  said  he, 
"  but  I'll  hand  it  in  next  week,  certain." 

Mrs.  Striker  went  away  victorious,  not- 
withstanding the  sullen  looks  that  fol- 
lowed her  from  the  occupant  of  the  wash- 
bench.  Other  calls  she  made  that  day, 
some  in  houses  where  the  children  clam- 
orously pleaded  the  cause  of  a  library 
and  saved  her  the  trouble,  one  or  two 


MRS.  STRIKER'S  SUCCESS.  51 

where  a  churlish  refusal  was  all  she  could 
get.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  good  after- 
noon's work ;  for  not  only  had  a  goodly 
sum  been  subscribed  for  the  books,  but 
new  thoughts  had  been  suggested  to  more 
than  one  hardened  heart.  The  thought 
came  in  some  form  or  other  to  each  per- 
son of  whom  Mrs.  Striker  asked  aid : 
"  This  is  the  work  of  the  Lord ;  it  has 
begun ;  it  will  go  forward ;  shall  I  help 
it  on  and  gain  a  blessing,  or  shall  I 
hinder  it  and  shut  myself  out  ?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  CHEERLESS  HOME. 

[HEN  Jake  Deny  went  home  the 
following  evening  to  supper,  he 
found  his  wife  setting  the  dishes 
on  the  table  with  a  great  deal 
more  clatter  and  risk  of  breakage  than 
was  at  all  reasonable.  The  expression 
of  her  face  corresponded  with  the  energy 
of  her  motions. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?"  asked  Jake. 

His  wife  threw  down  the  plate  she  had 

in  her  hand  and  turned  sharply  round  to 

where  her  eldest  son  sat  whittling  on  top 

the  potato  pile. 

"  I  don't  know  which  of  'em  provokes 
me  most,"  she  exclaimed,  angrily,  "her 
or  him." 

Mr.  Derry  of  course  asked  for  an  ex- 

52 


A    CHEERLESS    HOME.  53 

planation,  but  not  until  the  family  sat 
down  to  their  uncomfortable  meal  did  he 
get  it.  Then  he  learned  that  Mrs.  Striker 
had  called  on  his  wife  with  her  subscrip- 
tion paper,  that  Mrs.  Derry  had  refused 
to  give  anything,  of  course,  and  that,  after 
some  pretty  sharp  talking  on  both  sides, 
the  visitor  had  risen  to  go,  when  Phil  had 
walked  straight  up  to  Mrs.  Striker  and 
handed  her  three  dollars,  telling  her  to 
put  it  down  in  his  mother's  name. 

Jake  Derry  looked  at  his  son  when  the 
angry  story  came  to  an  end  with  surprise 
rather  than  anger  in  his  face. 

"  I  earned  it,  every  cent,"  said  Phil,  in 
answer  to  the  look.  "  I've  'tended  store 
for  the  captain  a  good  many  times  when 
he  had  to  be  away,  and  he  paid  me  up 
handsome." 

"All  right!"  said  Jake;  "but  why 
didn't  you  give  it  in  your  own  name,  I 
want  to  know  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  was  ashamed  of  ma,"  cried 
Phil,  a  flush  of  mortified  feeling  mount- 

5* 


54  PHIL    DEERY. 

ing  to  his  forehead.  "  Mrs.  Striker  is 
doing  this  for  the  good  of  all  of  us,  and 
to  have  my  ma  talk  back  to  her  as  im- 
pudent as  if — as  if  she  was  going  to  put 
the  money  in  her  own  pocket  was  more'n 
I  could  stand.  I  hope  you  won't  turn 
against  me  pa  for  doing  it;  but  if  you  do, 
I  can't  help  it.  It  was  right,  and  I'd  do 
it  over  again." 

Phil  pushed  his  chair  back  as  he  spoke, 
although  he  had  hardly  tasted  his  sup- 
per, and  seizing  his  cap  strode  from  the 
room,  banging  the  door  after  him.  As 
soon  as  he  was  gone  Mr.  Derry,  regard- 
less of  the  presence  of  the  younger  chil- 
dren, struck  the  table  with  his  fist  and 
said  in  an  angry  tone, 

"  Eliza,  I  won't  put  up  with  this  any 
longer.  It  ain't  enough  that  you  grum- 
ble and  scold  at  every  stranger  that  comes 
in  the  house,  and  have  the  name  of  being 
the  worst-tempered  woman  in  town,  but 
you  must  spoil  the  comfort  of  your  own 
children." 


A    CHEERLESS    HOME.  55 

Here  the  wife  made  a  motion  to  speak, 
but  another  thump  on  the  table  which 
shook  all  the  dishes  checked  her. 

"  There's  Phil ;  there's  no  mischief  got 
up  but  that  he  has  a  hand  in  it,  great 
lazy!  idle  dog  that  he  is,  and  now  that 
the  fellow  has  taken  a  fancy  to  something 
good,  you  are  trying  your  best  to  vex  and 
thwart  him.  A  pretty  mother  you  are! 
Now,  I  don't  care  for  Sabbath-schools — 
everybody  knows  that ;  but  when  I  saw 
the  boy  take  a  notion  to  it,  says  I,  'Jake 
Derry,  you  can't  do  a  wiser  thing  than 
to  help  along  this  new  notion/  so,  when 
the  missionary  spoke  to  me,  '  Come  on/ 
says  I,  '  and  I'll  do  what  I  can  to  help.' 
I  heard  how  you  abused  him  when  he 
came  here  with  the  Bibles,  and  that  made 
me  all  the  more  set  to  give  the  thing  a 
good  start.  You  hear  what  I  say,  do 
you  ?"  he  said,  raising  his  voice.  "  There ! 
let  me  hear  another  word  of  fuss  about 
this  Sunday-school  business  if  you  dare." 

This   speech  was  a  long  one   and   a 


56  PHIL,   DERRY. 

strong  one  for  such  an  easy-going  man 
as  Jake  Derry,  and  from  its  being  so  un- 
common it  had  its  effect.  He  did  not 
wait  for  any  reply,  but  left  the  house  as 
abruptly  as  Phil  had  done,  to  seek  more 
agreeable  company.  The  children,  too, 
watching  their  chance,  slipped  out  to 
frolic  in  the  mud,  as  usual,  and  Mrs. 
Derry  was  left  alone  at  the  supper-table, 
with  the  dirtv  dishes  scattered  about  and 

«/ 

fragments  of  unattractive  food  dropped 
on  floor  and  table-cloth.  These  things 
did  not  disturb  the  dingy,  faded-looking 
woman,  for  no  dainty  housekeeper  was 
she.  With  her  elbows  on  the  table  and 
her  eyes  hidden  in  her  brown,  bony 
hands,  she  sat,  therefore,  in  the  silence 
and  gathering  darkness,  too  spiritless  to 
go  to  work. 

To  understand  what  this  woman  was 
at  the  period  of  our  story  it  is  needful 
to  look  back  and  see  what  she  had  been. 
About  fourteen  years  before,  Jake  Derry, 
an  adventurous  young  farmer  in  cne  of 


A    CHEERLESS    HOME.  57 

the  New  England  States,  grew  tired  of 
the  steady,  plodding  life  his  father  and 
grandfather  had  led  before  him,  and 
watched  for  an  opportunity  to  sell  his 
farm.  It  came,  and  he  turned  his  face 
hopefully  toward  the  great  West,  there 
to  make  for  himself  a  home  and  a  for- 
tune. Unwilling  to  enter  upon  this  new 
life  alone,  the  young  man  sought  as  a 
companion  for  the  journey  and  for  life 
pretty  Eliza  Goodwin,  a  farmer's  daugh- 
ter in  his  own  neighbourhood.  A  merry 
girl  she  was  then,  whose  brown  hair  was 
always  tied  with  bright  ribbon,  and  who 
would  have  scorned  a  brown  dress,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  dirty  one  such  as  she  wore 
when  we  made  her  acquaintance.  In 
those  early  days  Eliza's  voice  was  heard 
in  singing-school  and  choir ;  at  the  Sab- 
bath-school and  the  prayer-meeting  none 
were  more  punctual  than  she ;  and  as  for 
owning  a  Bible,  she  would  have  thought 
it  an  insult  had  any  one  doubted  it. 
Such  was  the  girl  who  started  westward 


58  PHIL    DERRY. 

as  Jake  Derry's  wife,  to  brave  the  rough- 
ness, hard  work,  and  manifold  trials  of 
life  in  the  far  West.  Making  a  fortune 
was  not  so  speedy  a  work  as  the  young 
farmer  had  imagined.  Two  or  three 
years  were  passed  in  moving  from  place 
to  place  in  search  of  more  profitable  op- 
portunities of  business,  and  still  the  home 
that  was  to  be  the  coziest  and  neatest  that 
ever  was  seen  remained  a  thing  of  the 
future.  Gradually  the  merry,  hopeful 
girl  changed  into  the  sour  and  discon- 
tented woman ;  all  attempts  to  make  her 
dress  or  her  dwelling  pleasant  to  the  eye 
died  out;  and  after  Phil  was  born  no- 
body could  have  recognized  in  the  slov- 
enly, ill-tempered  Mrs.  Derry  the  Eliza 
Goodwin  of  happier  days.  So  things 
went  on,  getting  worse  every  year;  and 
at  last,  when  Jake  really  found  the  suc- 
cess to  which  he  had  aspired,  and  was 
making  money  as  fast  as  any  man  in 
Eagleville,  the  pleasant  vision  of  home 
had  dwindled  to  the  common  frame  house 


A   CHEERLESS    HOME.  59 

surrounded  by  mud  and  pigs  outside  and 
made  cheerless  by  dirt,  discomfort,  and 
quarrelling  within. 

Every  point  in  this  brief  history  passed 
before  the  mind  of  the  wife  and  mother 
sitting  with  her  elbows  on  the  disorderly 
table.  She  sighed  as  she  thought,  but  not 
with  sorrow  for  her  neglected  duties ;  the 
tears  trickled  through  her  fingers,  but 
they  were  not  tears  of  repentance.  She 
cried  because  her  husband  was  cross,  her 
son  undutiful,  her  home  wretched,  but  it 
did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  was  chiefly 
to  blame  for  all  these  things.  As  to  the 
Sunday-school,  if  she  had  been  indiffer- 
ent about  it  before,  she  fairly  hated  it 
now.  If  her  husband  supported  it,  she 
would  do  all  in  her  power  against  it. 
Phil  was  beyond  her  control;  he  would 
go  if  he  chose,  whether  she  liked  or  not, 
but  the  three  younger  children  should 
not  set  foot  inside  the  school-house  door 
of  a  Sunday  afternoon — that  was  one  thing 
certain.  Comforted  by  this  one  poor  plan 


60  PHIL    DERBY. 

of  vengeance,  she  rose  at  length,  wiped 
her  eyes  on  her  sleeve,  and  went  to  work. 
Alas  that  no  tender  memory  of  earlier 
days  had  come  with  the  tears  to  soften 
the  hard  heart !  Alas  that  no  loving 
words  from  the  lately-purchased  Bible 
had  found  their  way  among  the  angry 
thoughts  that  ruled  the  hour ! 

The  dishes  were  washed  and  put  away, 
the  children  were  called  in  and  sent  to 
bed,  and  then  Mrs.  Derry,  still  gloomy 
and  cross,  threw  a  shawl  around  her  and 
started  toward  Captain  Marks's  store  to 
replenish  the  family  stock  of  molasses 
and  lard. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LIZZIE,  SALLIE,  AND  SAM. 

EFORE  a  month  had  passed  away 
the  Sunday-school  of  Eagle ville 
had  grown  to  be  an  established 
fact.  The  teachers,  though  few 
and  ignorant  of  their  duties,  were  per- 
severing and  faithful.  The  Wednesday 
evening  meetings  for  Bible  study  were 
pretty  well  attended,  and  through  Mrs. 
Striker's  energy  a  very  attractive  collec- 
tion of  books  filled  the  new  shelves  on 
one  side  of  the  school-room.  The  chil- 
dren began  to  talk  about  their  lessons  and 
teachers,  their  reward  cards  and  library 
books,  as  if  they  had  been  used  to  these 
things  all  their  lives.  Miss  Amanda 
Millett  had  taken  pains  to  make  herself 
familiar  with  the  histories  of  Goliath, 
Samson,  and  other  Bible  heroes,  so  as  to 

6  61 


62  PHIL   DEERY. 

be  ready  to  meet  the  demands  of  her  class 
of  boys ;  Captain  Marks  had  made  good 
use  of  his  Bible  dictionary  as  well  as  of 
the  sacred  volume  itself,  no  longer  needed 
Mrs.  Striker's  help  in  getting  through 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  was  in  all  respects 
proving  himself  a  very  acceptable  super- 
intendent. The  good  missionary,  when 
at  length  he  came  back,  almost  afraid  to 
hope  that  the  seed  sown  in  such  hard  soil 
could  spring  up  and  bear  fruit,  was  over- 
joyed to  see  how  abundantly  the  Lord 
had  blessed  the  undertaking,  and  gath- 
ered fresh  courage  for  future  labours  from 
the  state  of  things  in  Eagleville. 

What  a  pleasant  conclusion  to  this 
cheering  account  would  it  be  to  say  that 
Phil  Deny  became  a  true  Christian ! 
Alas  that  in  real  life  things  do  not  often 
turn  out  exactly  as  we  wish !  Alas  that, 
however  smoothly  God  prepares  the  way 
heavenward,  perverse  human  hearts  will 
not  follow  therein! 

It  happened  that  the  very  boys  with 


LIZZIE,   SALLIE,    AND   SAM.  63 

whom  Phil  was  most  intimate  were  those 
who  formed  Miss  Millett's  class ;  he  liked 
music  also,  and  what  could  be  pleasanter 
than  to  join  with  a  roomful  of  boys  and 
girls  in  singing  the  beautiful  tunes  from 
the  new  hymn-books  that  had  been  pro- 
vided ?  The  library  too !  A  bright  boy 
like  Phil  must  have  something  to  read, 
and  these  charming  stories  published  by 
the  Sunday-school  Union  were  certainly 
for  beyond  comparison  with  the  stray 
chapters  of  very  poor  novels  which  had 
now  and  then  come  in  his  way  in  the 
newspapers  at  Captain  Marks's  store. 
His  mother's  fine  Bible,  his  own,  so  far 
as  the  use  of  it  went,  with  its  large  type 
and  many  pictures — even  to  carry  that 
back  and  forth  and  learn  lessons  in  it 
formed  not  the  least  of  his  pleasures. 

Before  the  visit  of  the  missionary  it 
had  been  the  custom  of  Phil-  and  his 
friends  to  club  together  and  hire  a  horse 
and  wagon  and  go  driving  about  the 
country  on  Sundays,  or,  for  variety,  to 


64  PHIL   DERBY. 

join  the  crowd  of  men  in  the  bar-room, 
and  spend  the  holy  hours  in  smoking  and 
listening  to  conversation  which,  to  say 
the  least,  was  foolish  and  unprofitable. 
As  for  staying  at  home,  Phil  never 
thought  of  doing  that  unless  he  was  tired 
or  there  was  nothing  going  on  in  town. 
Now  it  was  very  different;  the  drives  were 
given  up;  and  when  the  Sunday-school 
was  dismissed,  Phil  got  in  the  habit  of 
going  directly  home  with  his  books,  and 
would  either  climb  the  potato  pile  to  look 
over  his  new  library  book  or  sit  on  the 
door-step  and  call  little  Sam,  Lizzie,  and 
Sallie  to  come  see  the  pictures  in  the  fine 
Bible  or  hear  the  story  from  it  he  had 
just  learned.  Even  Mrs.  Derry  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  do  anything 
worse  than  frown  upon  the  group  of  eager 
faces  looking  over  the  big  brother's  shoul- 
der with  thoughts  all  absorbed  in  the  suf- 
ferings of  Joseph  sold  as  a  slave,  the  dan- 
gerous plight  of  baby  Moses  in  his  ark 
of  bulrushes,  the  wonderful  journey  of 


LIZZIE,   SALLIE,   AND   SAM.  65 

the  Israelites  toward  the  land  of  promise, 
and  many  others  so  familiar  to  us  who, 
growing  up  in  the  midst  of  Bible  know- 
ledge, cannot  recall  the  time  when  we  did 
not  know  these  histories  so  new  and  mar- 
vellous to  these  wild  Western  children. 

It  was  not  long  before  Lizzie  and  Sal- 
lie  began  to  tease  their  mother  to  let  them 
go  with  Phil  to  Sunday-school;  all  the 
other  little  girls  went,  they  said,  and  Mar- 
tha Marks  had  promised  to  give  them 
such  pretty  cards  with  pictures  on  them 
if  they  would  join  her  class. 

"  Martha  Marks  had  better  mind  her 
own  business !"  was  all  the  answer  they 
got. 

The  children  then  coaxed  Phil  to  plead 
for  them,  but  that  made  matters  worse. 
The  mother  only  boxed  his  ears,  big  boy 
that  he  was,  and  threatened,  if  he  said 
another  word  to  her  about  Sunday-school, 
to  turn  him  out  of  the  house.  After 
this  Phil  took  care  not  to  mention  the 
subject,  but  not  many  weeks  later  he  did 


66  PHIL    DERRY. 

what,  in  Mrs.  Berry's  sight,  was  a  great 
deal  worse.  He  had  started  one  Sunday 
afternoon  toward  the  school-house,  and 
with  the  Bible  open  in  his  hand  was  care- 
fully repeating  the  verses  Miss  Millett 
had  told  her  class  to  learn,  when  some 
voices  on  the  road  just  ahead  made  him 
look  up.  There  was  little  Sam  highly 
amused  at  the  distressing  cries  of  a  poor 
lean  cat  that  he  had  caught  and  was  tor- 
menting with  all  the  cruelty  of  which  a 
boy  eight  years  old  can  be  capable.  What 
was  worse,  the  two  girls  Lizzie  and  Sallie 
stood  by  clapping  their  hands  and  cheer- 
ing Sam  on  in  his  unfeeling  sport.  Phil 
gave  one  glance,  and  then  shouted  to  Sam 
in  no  very  gentle  voice  to  let  the  cat  go. 
Sam  made  some  cross  reply,  and  showed 
no  intention  of  minding.  Now,  Phil  him- 
self was  not  above  the  fun  of  teasing  cats; 
he  had  always  been  a  hard-hearted  fellow 
when  the  sufferings  of  animals  were  con- 
cerned ;  but  somehow,  with  the  sacred  words 
before  his  eyes  and  the  calm  influence  of 


LIZZIE,   SALLIE,    AND   SAM.  67 

the  day  upon  his  soul,  the  sight  of 
Sam's  cruelty  annoyed  him. 

"  Let  it  run,  I  tell  you,"  he  shouted, 
"  and  you,  Sam,  go  right  home  to  ma." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Sam,  sulkily.  "  You 
let  me  alone." 

Phil  felt  all  the  dignity  of  his  position 
as  big  brother,  and  was  about  to  repay 
this  saucy  reply  by  a  smart  blow  across 
the  little  boy's  shoulders,  when  a  different 
idea  occurred  to  him. 

"  Let  go  the  cat,  Sam,"  said  he,  "  and 
come,  all  of  you,  with  me  to  the  school- 
house." 

There  was  a  ready  assent  from .  all 
three,  even  Sam  considering  that  this 
proposal  offered  more  fun  than  teasing 
the  cat.  Lizzie  put  her  hand  in  Phil's, 
and  the  rest  followed.  It  was  a  very 
dirty  hand  that  clasped  his,  as  Phil  pres- 
ently noticed,  and  the  face  was  just  as  bad. 
The  others  were  no  cleaner,  and  a  sec- 
ond glance  revealed  the  fact  that  Sam's 
jacket  was  very  much  out  of  repair. 


68  PHIL   DERRY. 

"  You  don't  look  fit ;  I  can't  take  you, 
after  all,"  said  the  big  brother.  "  Go 
home ;  and  when  I  get  back,  I'll  tell  you 
a  first-rate  story  arid  show  you  my  library 
book.  I'll  take  you  another  time." 

"No,  you  won't,"  cried  Sallie;  "you* 
know  you  daren't,  for  ma'd  tear  your 
eyes  out  before  she'd  let  us  go  with  you." 

"I'm  goin',  sis,  whether  or  no,"  was 
obstinate  Sam's  remark.  "  Come  on ;  let 
Phil  catch  us  if  he  can  ;"  and  with  these 
words  from  the  boy  all  three  started  on 
a  run  down  the  road. 

Phil  was  perplexed.  He  had  offered 
to  take  them  without  considering  conse- 
quences, and  it  was  not  till  he  saw  how 
unfit  they  looked  that  the  more  import- 
ant thought  flashed  upon  him  of  "  what 
ma  would  say."  Now  that  the  young- 
sters had  taken  the  matter  into  their  own 
hands,  any  attempt  of  his  to  change  their 
plan  seemed  hopeless.  All  he  could  do 
was  to  call  to  them  to  stop  when  they 
came  to  the  creek  and  wash  their  hands 


LIZZIE,    SALLIE,   AND   SAM.  69 

and  faces.  Even  this  the  wild  little  things 
did  not  heed ;  and  when  he  reached  the 
school-house,  they  were  already  inside 
and  being  led  to  their  proper  classes  by 
Captain  Marks.  Phil  was  mortified  in- 
deed when  he  saw  his  sister  Lizzie  side 
by  side  with  little  Mary  Striker,  whose 
fresh  gingham  apron  and  neatly  combed 
hair  made  Lizzie's  slovenliness  appear 
much  worse  than  it  had  done  on  the  road. 
Soon,  however,  the  opening  hymn  put 
all  uncomfortable  thoughts  out  of  his 
head ;  and  when  his  class  got  fairly  at 
work  over  the  lesson,  he  forgot  everything 
else.  Miss  Millett  was  proving  a  very 
good  teacher ;  she  attended  the  Wednes- 
day evening  meeting  for  prayer  and  study 
faithfully,  and  studied  each  lesson  at 
home.  By  these  means  her  own  soul  was 
waking  to  a  new  understanding  of  the 
word  of  God.  Being  taught  of  the 
Spirit,  this  simple-minded  woman  was 
exerting  a  stronger  influence  over  her 
class  than  the  best-educated  Sunday- 


70  PHIL    DERRY. 

school   teacher   can   ever   hope   to   gain 
without  the  same  aid. 

Phil  was  lost  to  all  outward  things 
while  he  looked  out  the  references  Miss 
Millett  gave  him,  but  his  attention  was 
brought  back  to  what  was  going  on 
around  him  very  suddenly.  A  shadow 
fell  across  the  doorway,  an  angry  glance 
hurried  around  the  room,  and  to  the 
surprise  of  teachers,  the  amusement  of 
scholars,  Mrs.  Derry  darted  toward  the 
class  where  Sam's  rags  and  dirt  made 
him  conspicuous,  jerked  him  from  the 
seat,  and  then,  fiercely  beckoning  to 
Lizzie  and  Sallie  to  follow,  disappeared 
as  quickly  as  she  had  come.  All  eyes 
were  upon  the  little  girls,  and  more  than 
one  rude  speech  fell  upon  their  ears  as 
they  tremblingly  passed  out  of  the  room. 
Only  a  taste  of  pleasure  they  had  had, 
poor  things!  and  a  certainty  of  bitter 
trouble  to  come;  no  reward  cards,  no 
pretty  books,  but  an  expectation  of  a 


LIZZIE,   SALLIE,   AND  SAM.  71 

kind  of  discipline  they  were  too  familiar 
with  in  their  miserable  home. 

It  may  be  imagined  what  a  stormy 
reception  Phil  had  on  his  return.  His 
mother's  anger  was  deep  and  cruel.  He 
had  been  used  to  hard  words  all  his  life, 
but  somehow  a  new  sensitiveness  had 
arisen  in  his  heart  on  the  subject  of  the 
Sunday-school  which  nothing  had  ever 
aroused  before.  He  knew  he  was  to 
blame  for  taking  the  children  against 
her  wishes ;  and  had  she  been  in  a  more 
gentle  mood,  he  would  have  told  her  so. 
As  it  was,  the  breach  that  had  long  ex- 
isted between  mother  and  son  was  that 
day  so  widened  that  there  was  longer 
even  a  pretence  of  peace  between  them. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

NATHAN  BROWN'S  ASSISTANT. 

[HEN  another  spring  came,  bring- 
ing freshness  and  beauty  to  the 
great  prairies  of  the  West,  a  new 

<&>  stir  of  life  was  felt  in  the  ugly 
little  town  of  Eagleville.  The  women 
began  scrubbing  and  whitewashing  in 
the  effort  to  make  their,  mean  dwellings 
a  less  startling  contrast  to  the  brightness 
provided  by  Nature  all  around.  The 
men  went  about  their  work  with  more 
energy,  the  restless  children  grew  frisky, 
longing  to  be  free  like  other  young  ani- 
mals in  the  spring-time,  and  hard  work 
had  the  poor  schoolmaster  to  keep  order 
in  his  dominions. 

The  owners  of  desks  nearest  the  win- 
dows looked  out  one  morning  and  saw 
a  clumsy  covered  wagon  coming  slowly 

72 


NATHAN    BROWN'S    ASSISTANT.  73 

along  the  road.  The  driver  was  a 
stranger,  and  the  horse  clearly  did  not 
belong  to  that  neighbourhood,  for  he 
seemed  not  to  know  the  way  to  the  hotel 
any  more  than  his  master.  As  soon  as 
the  signal  for  recess  was  given  a  troop 
of  boys  and  girls  started  along  the  streets 
in  search  of  the  queer-looking  wagon. 
They  found  it  easily,  and  learned  without 
the  trouble  of  asking  that  it  belonged  to 
a  travelling  artist,  and  that  by  going 
inside  the  strange  vehicle  and  paying 
twenty-five  cents  anybody  could  have 
his  likeness  taken.  A  crowd  of  grown 
people  had  been  drawn  to  the  spot,  as 
well  as  the  children,  and  the  artist  had 
already  set  about  his  work. 

Three  days  did  this  novel  establish- 
ment remain  in  town,  and  a  busy  time 
its  owner  had.  Whole  families  came  to 
have  their  portraits  taken,  to  be  framed 
and  hung  in  the  best  room,  and  every 
one  nearly  who  had  a  quarter  to  spare 
thought  of  an  absent  relative  who  would 


74  PHIL   DERBY. 

prize  his  or  her  likeness.  When  "  Na- 
than Brown,  photographic  artist,"  as  the 
big  yellow  letters  on  the  wagon  stated  the 
traveller  to  be,  had  made  all  the  money 
he  could  out  of  Eagleville  people,  he  be- 
gan his  preparations  for  leaving.  Most 
important  among  these  preparations  was 
his  search  for  an  assistant.  Both  in  Mr. 
Marks's  store  and  on  the  wagon  itself 
he  placed  this  announcement :  "  Wanted 
a  half-grown  boy  who  knows  how  to 
drive  and  is  willing  to  learn  the  elegant 
art  of  taking  photographs  as  part  pay  for 
his  services.  Apply  this  very  day  to 
Mr.  Nathan  Brown  on  the  premises." 

Two  or  three  youngsters  shouted  to 
Mr.  Brown  their  readiness  to  serve  him 
before  the  advertisement  had  been  out 
ten  minutes,  but  for  some  reason  or  other 
he  was  not  satisfied  with  any  of  these. 
At  last  Phil  Derry  came  along.  He 
stopped,  as  every  one  else  did,  to  read 
the  notice,  but  passed  on  his  way  without 
saying  a  word.  Pretty  soon  he  came 


NATHAN    BROWN'S    ASSISTANT.  75 

back,  walked  up  to  the  wagon,  and  took 
a  good  look  at  it ;  then,  as  if  his  curiosity 
was  satisfied,  he  started  on  the  road  home, 
but  at  a  slow  pace  and  without  his  usual 
whistle.  In  half  an  hour  there  he  was 
again.  This  time  he  made  his  way  to  the 
hotel  stable,  where  the  stranger's  horse 
stood.  He  looked  carefully  at  the  ani- 
mals with  the  air  of  one  who  was  a  judge 
of  horses.  When  he  turned  to  the  sta- 
ble door,  there  stood  Mr.  Nathan  Brown ; 
he  had  been  watching  the  boy  all  the 
time. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  my  horse  ?" 

"Pretty  fair,"  answered  Phil.  "I 
wouldn't  stake  much  money  on  her  at  a 
race,  though." 

"  No ;  but  that  is  not  what  I  bought 
her  for.  Racing  is  quite  out  of  my  line, 
but  a  first-rate,  steady-going  beast  is  old 
Betsy,  and  exactly  suited  for  a  business 
like  mine." 

The  man  and  the  boy  stood  silent  for 


76  PHIL    DERRY. 

a  moment  looking  at  the  animal  in  ques- 
tion. Mr.  Brown  broke  the  silence : 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  country 
about  here  ?  Much  of  a  driver,  eh  ?" 

Phil  replied  that  he  couldn't  miss  his 
way  for  a  circuit  of  twenty  miles  or  so, 
for  he  had  gone  about  with  his  father  a 
good  deal;  and  as  for  driving,  he  had 
been  at  it  more  or  less  ever  since  he  was 
big  enough  to  hold  the  reins. 

"  I  like  your  looks,  my  lad,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  "  and  I  think  it's  a  pity  for  a 
likely  young  fellow  like  you  to  let  slip 
such  a  chance  as  I  offer  to  make  a  start 
in  life." 

Phil's  face  brightened :  "  You  haven't 
engaged  a  boy  yet,  sir,  have  you  ?" 

The  artist  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know  there's  Bill  Callahan  that 
meant  to  speak  to  you,  and  Alf  Jenks 
too.  I  thought  maybe — " 

"  Wouldn't  have  one  of  'em  in  my 
employ ;  a  rough  lot  as  I  ever  saw," 
broke  in  Mr.  Brown. 


NATHAN   BROWN'S   ASSISTANT.  77 

"I  don't  suppose  there's  any  chance 
for  me,  then,  sir?" 

Phil  put  the  question  nervously,  and 
kept  breaking  bits  off  the  torn  straw  hat 
in  his  hand  while  he  listened  for  the  an- 
swer. 

"  Chance !"  said  the  other ;  "  you  come 
into  Marks's  store  about  four  or  five 
o'clock — business'll  be  pretty  much  over 
then — and  we'll  talk  about  it — that  is, 
if  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  my 
terms,"  added  the  man,  looking  at  Phil 
keenly.  "  I've  made  a  first-rate  offer, 
and  I  want  it  taken  up  fair  and  square, 
you  know." 

The  boy  looked  down  and  pulled  an- 
other braid  off  the  old  hat.  "  I've  made 
up  my  mind  well  enough,"  said  he,  "  but 
I  haven't  spoken  to  my  father  yet.  I'll 
do  it,  though,  and  let  you  know  for  cer- 
tain before  five  o'clock." 

Phil  darted  off  as  soon  as  the  words 
were  out  of  his  mouth,  and  this  time  he 
strode  toward  home  without  so  much  as 

7* 


78  PHIL  DERRY. 

a  glance  at  the  gayly-lettered  wagon  or 
a  word  to  any  one  he  met.  He  did  not 
go  into  the  house,  but  stood  leaning  on 
the  fence  watching  for  his  father,  who 
had  been  absent  from  town  all  the  morn- 
ing, but  was  sure  to  be  home  soon  for  his 
dinner.  When,  presently,  he  made  his 
appearance  on  the  road,  Phil  went  to 
meet  him,  anxious  to  have  this  import- 
ant matter  settled  out  of  hearing  of  his 
mother  and  the  children.  In  few  words 
Phil  presented  the  case.  He  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer  at  home,  he  said ; 
his  mother  treated  him  like  a  dog ;  there 
wasn't  enough  to  do  to  keep  a  great  fel- 
low like  him  busy ;  and  since  he  had  his 
own  way  to  make  in  the  world,  here  was 
as  good  a  chance  as  any. 

Jake  Deny  listened  gravely.  He 
could  not  gainsay  the  boy's  statements. 
It  was  true  that  his  mother  treated  him 
badly,  and  also  true  that  it  was  time  for 
Phil  to  be  doing  something  better  than 
lounging  about  town  only  doing  a  day's 


NATHAN    BROWN'S   ASSISTANT.  79 

work  now  and  then  for  anybody  that 
wanted  help.  But  he  was  ambitious  of 
something  better  for  his  elder  son  than 

o 

the  career  of  a  travelling  photographer. 
Still— 

"  You  hurry  with  your  dinner  and 
then  clear  out  for  a  little  while,"  said  he, 
"so  I  can  have  a  chance  to  talk  with 
your  mother  about  this.  Wait  for  me 
somewhere  along  the  road — say  at  Jerry 
Jones's — and  I'll  join  you  there  as  soon 
as  I  can." 

Mrs.  Derry  was  not  in  a  good  humour 
that  day,  and  scolded  briskly  about  hav- 
ing the  dinner  kept  waiting.  Neither 
husband  nor  son  paid  much  heed  to  this 
not  unusual  occurrence,  for  a  more  im- 
portant subject  engaged  their  thoughts. 
Phil  soon  finished  his  meal  and  started 
off.  It  was  with  an  anxious  heart  he 
entered  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  even 
the  jokes  of  lively  Jerry  Jones  failed  of 
their  usual  effect.  In  due  time  his  father 
joined  him,  and  during  their  short  walk 


80  PHIL   DERRY. 

Phil's  future  was  decided  upon — that  is, 
so  far  as  human  planning  goes,  so  far 
and  no  farther.  Mrs.  Berry  had  made 
no  opposition  to  her  son's  leaving  home- 
indeed,  she  had  declared  it  would  be  a 
good  riddance ;  and  the  father,  only  half 
satisfied  though  he  was,  gave  his  con- 
sent to  the  step. 

The  next  day  old  Betsy  was  harnessed 
to  the  clumsy  wagon,  and  the  establish- 
ment of  Nathan  Brown  was  on  its  way 
to  the  next  town.  There  was  more  ex- 
citement in  the  school-house  now  than 
even  at  its  coming ;  eager  faces  pressed 
against  the  small  panes  of  its  window  to 
see  it  pass ;  a  crowd  of  people  stood  in  the 
road  to  give  their  young  townsman  a  fare- 
well shake  of  the  hand  and  a  parting 
"  Good  luck  to  ye,  Phil !"  and  so,  in  the 
pleasant  sunshine  of  the  spring  morning, 
with  the  reins  in  his  hands  and  boy- 
hood's courage  and  hope  in  his  heart, 
Phil  Derry  started  forth  to  begin  life  for 
himself. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PHIL  IN  DISGRACE. 

i  HAT  could  be  more  to  the  taste  of 
an  active  boy  like  our  liero  than 
the  free  out-of-door  life,  with  its 
constant  change  of  scene  and  of 
companions,  which  the  business  of  trav- 
elling-artist brought  in  its  train  ?  There 
was  no  home-longing  to  mar  the  pleasure, 
for  Phil's  home  was  not  one  which  it  cost 
him  a  pang  to  leave.  There  was  one 
strong  link  binding  his  heart  to  Eagle- 
ville — only  one ;  that  was  the  Sunday- 
school.  Nobody  knew,  not  even  himself, 
how  great  a  change  had  been  wrought  in 
Phil  by  the  steady,  quiet  influence  of  those 
Sunday  afternoons  in  the  school-house. 
As  to  being  a  Christian,  the  thought  of 
such  a  thing  had  never,  perhaps,  entered 

F  81 


82  PHIL    DERRY. 

his  head,  but  more  than  one  bad  habit 
had  quietly  dropped  from  him  under  the 
influence  of  certain  texts,  and  some  old 
opinions  had  entirely  changed  without 
his  being  aware  of  it.  Miss  Millett  and 
Captain  Marks  had  watched  these  changes 
with  joy,  and  had  allowed  themselves 
hopes  now  suddenly  checked  by  this  un- 
expected event.  There  was  in  the  small 
box  of  clothing  containing  all  Phil's 
worldly  goods  a  neat  little  Testament 
and  a  bundle  of  tracts,  parting  gifts  from 
these  two  good  friends.  But  these  things 
have  nothing  to  do  with  that  first  morn- 
ing and  the  boy's  glad  feelings  as  he 
drove  old  Betsy  along  the  road  toward 
the  next  town.  On  the  way  Mr.  Brown 
gave  him  some  bits  of  information  about 
the  art  of  taking  pictures,  told  him  sev- 
eral funny  anecdotes  of  his  travels,  and, 
on  the  whole,  proved  himself  more  agree- 
able than  one  might  have  expected. 

Phil  was  somewhat  acquainted  with  the 
first  two  or  three  towns  at  which  they 


PHIL   IN   DISGRACE.  83 

stopped,  and  felt  a  natural  pride  in  ap- 
pearing among  his  associates  as  a  man  of 
business.  His  principal  duty  for  some 
time  was  the  care  of  old  Betsy ;  on  arriv- 
ing at  a  place  he  had  to  attend  to  her 
comfort  as  well  as  to  arrange  for  the  board 
of  himself  and  his  employer.  Indeed, 
he  soon  got  in  the  way  of  saving  Mr. 
Brown  all  anxiety  about  his  affairs;  he 
had  only  to  stay  inside  the  wagon  and 
attend  to  customers,  while  his  assistant 
did  everything  else.  Phil's  pleasant  man- 
ners, too,  did  more  to  attract  people  than 
even  the  big-lettered  announcement  on 
the  wagon.  Certain  it  was  that  Mr. 
Brown  did  not  repent  his  bargain. 

When  the  day's  business  was  over  and 
everything  put  in  order,  it  was  Phil's 
habit  to  take  out  his  Testament  and  read 
a  chapter;  this  he  had  promised  Miss  Mil- 
lett  to  do  regularly.  It  was  an  easy  mat- 
ter, and  with  the  memory  of  those  happy 
Sunday  hours  spent  in  the  Eagleville 
school-house  fresh  in  his  mind,  the 


84  PHIL    DERRY. 

quiet  hour  spent  in  poring  over  the  sa- 
cred pages  formed  the  pleasantest  of  the 
twenty-four. 

As  old  Betsy  travelled  on,  the  roads 
became  rougher,  the  distances  greater 
from  one  settlement  to  another,  and  the 
people  less  civilized.  Phil  was  used  to 
language  and  habits  that  would  have 
shocked  a  well-trained  boy  at  the  East; 
the  men  that  frequented  Captain  Marks's 
store  were  an  idle,  loaferish  set,  and  the 
Eagleville  women  were  not  very  refined, 
we  have  seen.  But  Eagleville  people 
were  a  sober,  industrious  set  compared  to 
the  inhabitants  of  certain  remote  villages 
to  which  Mr.  Brown's  photographic  es- 
tablishment went. 

One  night  they  drew  up  before  a 
large  unpainted  building  whose  broken 
panes  of  glass  and  loosened  planks,  deco- 
rated all  over  with  fragments  of  red  and 
blue  handbills  of  last  year's  shows,  proved 
it  to  be  a  public-house. 

"  You  won't  find  much  business  here, 


PHIL,   IN    DISGRACE.  85 

sir,  or  I'm  mistaken,"  said  Phil,  glancing 
around. 

"  Maybe  not,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  but 
you  can't  tell.  If  the  weather  is  fine  to- 
morrow, we  may  do  a  good  stroke  of  work. 
I've  made  money  in  harder-looking  places 
than  this." 

The  usual  crowd  of  idlers,  with  their 
ready  jokes  and  questions,  soon  sur- 
rounded the  wagon,  and  Phil,  after  due 
attention  to  Betsv  and  the  rest  of  his 

•/ 

master's  property,  was  led  by  two  or  three 
boys  of  his  own  age  into  the  house. 
There,  tired  as  he  was,  he  had  to  undergo 
a  regular  catechism  from  these  new  ac- 
quaintances as  to  who  he  was,  where  he 
came  from,  what  sort  of  work  he  had  to 
do,  how  much  money  the  concern  made, 
and  many  other  things.  In  return  the 
boys  told  him  all  about  Larky  Flats — for 
so  the  place  was  named — and  offered  to 
show  him  about,  but  Phil  said  he  cared 
for  nothing  but  to  get  his  supper  and  go 
to  bed. 


86  PHIL    DERRY. 

The  supper  was  soon  provided — not  a 
very  tempting  one  to  a  dainty  appetite, 
to  be  sure,  but  Phil  knew  nothing  about 
dainty  fare  at  his  own  home,  so  that,  with 
hunger  for  a  sauce,  the  meal  was  very 
satisfactory.  After  this  he  faiii  would 
have  been  let  alone ;  his  Bible  was  in  his 
pocket,  ready  for  the  first  chance  he  might 
gain  for  reading;  and  when  that  was  done, 
he  wanted  to  go  to  bed.  A  long  day's 
jolting  over  bad  roads  makes  even  a 
healthy  boy  ready  to  rest.  But  his  new 
friends  had  other  plans  for  spending  the 
evening. 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them  as  soon  as 
Phil's  hunger  was  satisfied  ;  "  let's  all  go 
have  a  game  at  billiards."  Phil  begged 
off  from  this,  and  owned  that  he  was  too 
tired  to  enjoy  such  a  thing.  "  Well, 
then,"  said  another, "  suppose  we  sit  down 
here  and  smoke  ?"  To  this  proposal  Phil 
consented,  for  he  was  a  sociable  fellow 
and  did  not  like  to  appear  uncivil.  Alas ! 
he  had  to  learn  by  sore  experience  the 


PHIL,   IN   DISGRACE.  87 

duty  of  being   uncivil  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. 

In  the  intervals  of  smoking  the  boys 
got  to  telling  stories ;  every  one  had  some- 
thing funny  to  narrate,  and  in  his  turn 
Phil  called  up  more  than  one  amusing 
tale  that  he  had  heard  from  the  men  at 
Captain  Marks's  store.  He  forgot  that 
he  was  tired  and  sleepy — forgot,  too,  about 
the  unread  Bible  in  his  pocket. 

By  and  by  one  of  the  company  yawned 
and  stretched,  said  they  had  been  quiet 
long  enough,  and  proposed  getting  some- 
thing to  drink.  The  others  agreed  read- 
ily, but  Phil's  half-asleep  conscience 
resisted.  He  made  a  pretence  of  want- 
ing to  see  Mr.  Brown  about  something, 
but  the  oldest  of  the  boys  only  laughed, 
pulled  Phil's  arm  through  his,  and 
marched  him  off  to  the  bar-room.  It 
was  at  quite  a  late  hour  when  Mr.  Brown, 
having  waited  until  he  was  out  of  pa- 
tience, came  in  search  of  his  assistant. 
He  found  him  leaning  against  the  wall 


88  PHIL   DERBY. 

in  a  corner  of  the  bar-room,  stupidly 
drunk.  His  companions  had  lured  him 
on  to  this  disgrace  and  left  him  to  suffer 
from  it  alone. 

Mr.  Brown  called  a  man  to  his  help, 
and  together  they  dragged  the  senseless 
boy  to  bed.  Whatever  Phil's  employer 
thought  or  felt,  he  uttered  not  a  word, 
but  the  man  who  came  at  his  call  to  assist 
him  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  to 
another  that  he  wouldn't  like  to  be  the 
fellow  that  was  in  for  a  quarrel  with  that 
Brown. 

The  morning  sun  was  high  in  the  hea- 
vens when  Phil  awoke.  He  rose  from 
the  bed  with  a  start.  How  his  head 
ached !  how  heavy  and  dull  he  felt ! 
Where  was  Mr.  Brown  ?  What  place 
was  this?  and  how  long  had  they  been 
there  ?  The  wonderings  and  questions 
came  fast  one  after  another  while  he  hur- 
ried on  his  clothes.  The  answers  came, 
too,  before  he  was  ready  to  go  down  stairs ; 
and  oh  what  humiliation,  what  self-con- 


PHIL    IN    DISGRACE.  89 

• 

tempt,  came  with  them !  He  could  hear 
plainly  through  the  thin  floor  the  voices 
in  the  bar-room,  and  among  them  he 
recognized  the  tones  of  one  of  his  last 
night's  companions : 

"  Not  out  of  bed  yet,  eh  ?"  Then  fol- 
lowed a  derisive  laugh,  and  somebody 
else  said : 

"  Brown's  put  out  the  worst  way.  He's 
had  to  go  to  work  by  himself,  you  see, 
and  his  hands  are  a  little  too  full  for 
comfort." 

These  remarks  and  many  more  on  the 
same  subject  Phil  heard,  and  the  more 
he  listened,  so  much  the  more  he  dreaded 
to  face  the  men  below,  who  knew  the 
whole  story  of  his  disgrace.  A  year  ago 
the  fact  of  being  drunk  and  having  it 
known  would  have  produced  little  effect 
on  him.  Public  opinion  in  Eagleville 
was  in  nowise  shocked  by  such  an  occur- 
rence. But  between  him  and  the  views 
he  had  then  held  came  the  sacred  influ- 
ences of  the  Sunday-school.  Only  influ- 


90  PHIL    DEREY. 

• 

ences,  it  is  true ;  they  had  not  struck 
root  in  principles  yet ;  the  character  had 
undergone  no  change,  but  in  all  outward 
things  this  Phil  Derry  was  not  the  same 
Phil  Derry  that  we  met  in  the  opening 
chapter. 

At  last  Phil  mustered  courage  and 
went  down  stairs.  There  were  half  a 
dozen  men  standing  about  the  principal 
room,  and  at  sight  of  him  a  smile  passed 
from  one  to  another.  He  turned  to  the 
man  whom  he  supposed  to  be  the  land- 
lord and  inquired  where  he  could  find 
Mr.  Brown. 

"  Out  there,  taking  pictures  as  fast  as 
he  can,"  was  the  answer ;  "  and  if  you'll 
take  my  advice,  youngster,  you'll  keep 
clear  of  your  boss  till  he's  calmed  down 
a  bit.  It  would  not  be  good  for  you  if 
he  saw  you  now." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent  to  this 
among  the  interested  bystanders. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  sturdily ;  "  two 
wrongs  don't  make  a  right.  I've  done 


PHIL    IN   DISGRACE.  91 

one  wrong,  and  I'm  not  going  to  double 
it  by  shirking  my  regular  work." 

A  louder  murmur  of  approval  came 
from  the  men  than  before.  "  He's  a 
trump !"  said  one  voice ;  "  three  cheers 
for  Brown's  boy !"  called  another ;  and 
they  were  given  lustily.  A  manly  senti- 
ment like  Phil's  is  sure  to  find  an  echo 
even  in  natures  that  have  sunk  too  low 
to  utter  it  for  themselves. 

Phil  stepped  toward  the  door,  but  a 
strong  hand  pulled  him  back.  "  You 
haven't  had  your  breakfast  yet,"  said  the 
landlord. 

"  I  don't  want  any,"  said  Phil. 

The  man  took  no  notice  of  these  words, 
but  pulled  him  back,  and  pointing  to  an- 
other door  leading  to  the  kitchen  said, 

"  Go  along  in  there ;  the  old  woman'll 
have  a  bite  for  you." 

Phil  glanced  around  sharply ;  he  did 
not  care  to  meet  any  of  his  last  night's 
companions.  No  one  was  there  but  a 
stout  woman  with  a  good-humoured  face, 


92  PHIL   DEREY. 

» 

who  nodded  to  him,  and  directly  brought 
him  a  plate  of  cold  pork  and  a  huge 
piece  of  corn-bread.  He  ate  these  with 
a  relish  that  surprised  him,  for  he  had 
felt  only  a  few  minutes  before  that  he 
could  never  swallow  another  mouthful. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  slipped  out  of 
the  back  door  and  made  his  way  to  where 
the  wagon  stood,  surrounded  by  expect- 
ant sitters.  He  entered  quietly ;  and  see- 
ing that  Mr.  Brown  was  engaged  taking 
a  group,  he  set  to  work  with  a  will  to 
make  himself  as  useful  as  possible.  After 
that  a  rush  of  customers  kept  both  of 
them  so  constantly  occupied  that  the 
awkward  moment  of  explanation  was 
deferred  until  dinner-time,  but  then  it 
came.  As  soon  as  they  were  alone  to- 
gether Mr.  Brown  turned  toward  Phil 
with  a  stern  expression  and  demanded 
what  he  had  to  say  for  himself.  The 
boy's  answer  was  humble  enough,  but  it 
only  seemed  to  make  Mr.  Brown  more 
angry.  He  spoke  with  great  contempt 


PHIL    IN    DISGRACE.  93 

of  the  position  in  which  he  had  found 
him  the  night  before,  told  him  he  had 
done  more  in  that  one  act  to  injure  the 
business  than  all  his  previous  work  had 
profited  it,  and  ended  by  announcing  his 
intention  to  discharge  him  on  the  spot. 
This  was  an  unlooked-for  blow ;  it  hum- 
bled Phil  completely.  To  go  home  in 
disgrace,  to  bear  his  mother's  taunts  and 
his  father's  disappointment,  to  lose  Miss 
Millett's  good  opinion,  to  be  laughed  at 
by  the  Eagleville  boys  and  girls !  Oh,  he 
could  not  stand  all  that.  He  actually 
fell  on  his  knees  before  his  indignant 
employer  and  pleaded  as  if  for  his  life. 

"  Try  me  once  more,  Mr.  Brown,"  he 
exclaimed ;  "  and  if  ever  you  find  me  the 
worse  for  liquor  a  second  time,  send  me 
off.  I  won't  say  a  word." 

Mr.  Brown  softened  at  last  under  such 
pleading.  He  did  not  really  wish  to  part 
with  Phil,  for  he  had  become  very  useful 
to  him,  and  he  had  shown  all  the  vexa- 
tion he  felt  on  purpose  to  produce  an  im- 


94  PHIL   DERRY. 

pression  that  would  last.  On  Phil's  own 
offer  of  conditions,  therefore,  that  he  would 
work  more  steadily  and  never  go  out  of 
Mr.  Brown's  sight  without  permission,  the 
shrewd  man  of  business  retained  the  pen- 
itent lad  in  his  service. 

During  the  remaining  days  of  their 
stay  in  Larky  Flats,  Phil's  greatest  trou- 
ble was  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  those 
boys  whose  friendship  had  been  such  a 
snare  to  him.  There  was  help,  to  be  sure, 
in  the  condition  he  had  made  never  to 
be  away  from  Mr.  Brown  unless  by  ex- 
press permission,  but  there  were  times, 
when  he  was  busy  at  the  stable  or  going 
back  and  forth  with  water  for  washing 
the  photographic  plates,  when  one  or  the 
other  of  his  tempters  would  shout  to  him 
some  word  of  mockery  or  anger.  This 
was  safer  for  him  than  the  companion- 
ship of  such  characters;  and  however 
Phil  suffered,  he  ran  no  risk  of  being 
led  astray  a  second  time  at  Larky  Flats. 


CHAPTER  X. 

UP,  AND  DOWN  AGAIN. 

HE  summer  months  passed  swiftly 
1   and  pleasantly  away  to  our  busy 


travellers.  No  idle  tourist  going 
from  place  to  place  in  search  of 
recreation  could  enjoy  the  flitting  days 
more  thoroughly  than  did  hard-working 
Phil.  Long  drives  through  the  country 
were  varied  by  Mr.  Brown's  oral  instruc- 
tion in  the  science  of  photography,  and 
business  kept  them  at  the  different  settle- 
ments too  short  a  time  for  the  novelty  of 
any  of  them  to  wear  away.  Phil  was 
gaining  an  experience  of  human  nature 
that  was  to  be  useful  to  him  in  future 
years  in  ways  that  he  did  not  suspect. 
As  the  remembrance  of  his  sad  fall  at 
Larky  Flats  wore  away  from  Mr.  Brown's 

95 


96  PHIL   DERRY. 

mind — that  is  to  say,  the  bitterness  of  the 
remembrance — he  returned  to  his  former 
kind  manner  of  treating  his  assistant. 
Phil  was,  however,  made  to  feel  more  than 
once  that  he  did  not  regard  him  with  en- 
tire confidence  as  before ;  and  sometimes 
when  he  took  out  his  Testament  to  read 
an  expression  passed  over  Mr.  Brown's 
face  that  said  as  plainly  as  words  that  a 
religion  that  went  no  farther  than  Bible 
reading  didn't  amount  to  much;  and  Mr. 
Brown  was  right. 

About  the  middle  of  August  old  Betsy 
drew  the  picture-gallery  and  its  occu- 
pants into  the  most  uninviting  settle- 
ment of  the  whole  route.  Eagleville 
had  all  the  dignity  of  a  New  England 
city  by  comparison  with  Clegg  Hole. 
The  very  air  of  heaven  was  heavy  there 
with  the  odours  that  came  from  the  low 
log  tavern  ;  every  sound  of  human  speech 
that  fell  upon  the  ear  was  such  as  to  make 
the  sense  of  hearing  a  curse;  and  the 
sight  of  so  many  evil  and  degraded  faces 


UP,  AND   DOWN   AGAIN.  97 

was  sorrowful  indeed.  This  Western  boy 
of  ours,  familiar  enough,  one  would  think, 
with  a  low  grade  of  society,  gazed  with 
disgust  and  foreboding  upon  each  object 
that  met  his  eye  as  he  drew  rein  within 
the  limits  of  Clegg  Hole. 

"  We  won't  stop  here  long,  I  hope," 
said  he,  gloomily. 

"  As  long  as  it  pays  to  stop — no  longer, 
of  course,"  answered  the  man  of  business. 
Mr.  Brown  viewed  every  settlement  as 
if  through  his  pocket-book,  and  had  lit- 
tle emotion  beyond  that. 

"  If  all  the  folks  are  as  homely  as  those 
yonder,  they  won't  want  their  pictures 
taken."  Phil  laughed,  and  pointed  to 
two  withered  old  crones  who  sat  in  a 
doorway  smoking. 

"  Why,  boy,  that  shows  how  little  you 
know.  That's  the  very  sort  to  make  the 
money  out  of.  You'll  see." 

Sure  enough,  one  of  Mr.  Brown's  first 
sitters  was  the  brownest  and  homeliest  of 
the  two  grandams. 


98  PHIL   DERRY. 

During  the  entire  stay  at  Clegg  Hole, 
Mr.  Brown  and  Phil  slept  in  the  wagon. 
They  had  close  quarters,  to  be  sure,  but 
even  such  an  arrangement  was  far  pref- 
erable to  the  foul  air  and  dirty  bed  of  the 
garret,  where  they  could  have  got  lodging 
in  company  with  two  or  three  other  men. 
They  had  to  eat  at  the  tavern,  and  that 
was  bad  enough.  Nathan  Brown's  proph- 
ecy proved  correct:  business  was  brisk; 
the  wretched-looking  people  of  Clegg 
Hole  were  as  eager  to  get  their  likenesses 
as  anybody  else;  and  nowhere  on  the  route 
had  orders  for  large  pictures  to  be  framed 
been  so  numerous.  Phil  was  able  to  ren- 
der valuable  help  by  this  time,  and  now 
and  then  Mr.  Brown  trusted  him  to  take 
a  picture  alone.  The  thought  came  into 
the  boy's  head  more  than  once  that  he 
would  make  himself  master  of  the  art, 
and  one  of  these  days  start  off  with  an 
establishment  of  his  own  through  the 
country.  That  thought  never  grew  into 
a  plan ;  the  events  that  followed  fast  upon 


UP,   AND   DOWN   AGAIN.  99 

each  other  in  this  visit  to  Clegg  Hole 
swept  them  entirely  from  his  memory. 

One  drizzly  afternoon,  there  being  no 
likelihood  of  sitters,  Mr.  Brown  told  Phil 
that  he  did  not  need  him,  and  that  he 
might  amuse  himself  as  he  chose,  "  only," 
was  the  wise  limitation,  "  see  that  you 
keep  clear  of  the  bar-room." 

"  Never  fear  but  I  will,"  was  the  answer. 
Phil  was  depending  on  the  severe  lesson 
he  had  lately  -had,  as  if  that  were  enough 
to  strengthen  him  against  future  tempta- 
tion. Experience  is  a  great  teacher,  tru- 
ly, but  unless  the  power  of  God's  Spirit 
works  with  it,  its  lessons  generally  fail 
of  any  lasting  effect. 

The  most  attractive  spot  at  that  hour 
of  the  day  was  the  billiard-room ;  a  num- 
ber of  men  and  boys  were  standing 
around  the  entrance,  and  Phil  thought 
he  would  just  look  in  to  see  what  was 
going  on.  The  game  was  an  exciting 
one,  and  a  considerable  sum  of  money 
was  at  stake.  All  eyes  were  upon  the 


100  PHIL   DERRY. 

players,  and  nobody  took  any  notice  of 
the  stranger  boy  standing  silently  behind 
the  rest.  It  was  odd  that  he  should  feel 
an  interest  in  the  contest,  when  the  play- 
ers were  entirely  unknown  to  him,  but 
his  liking  for  billiards,  first  learned 
among  companions  at  Eagleville,  came 
back  to  Phil  with  redoubled  force,  and 
he  presently  forgot  Mr.  Brown,  the  way 
time  was  flying,  and  everything  else. 
When  the  game  ended,  a  jug  of  whisky 
was  produced,  and  everybody  was  asked 
to  drink.  A  broken  mug  was  passed 
around  ;  and  when  it  came  to  Phil,  he  too 
swallowed  its  contents,  never  thinking 
what  he  did  until  afterward — the  bitter, 
bitter  afterward  ! 

The  afternoon  waned ;  several  of  the 
men  had  left  the  billiard-room,  and  others 
had  come  in ;  the  players  had  changed 
more  than  once,  but  there  was  one  there, 
a  young  lad  with  flushed  face  and  eager 
eyes,  who  played  on  and  on  without  wea- 
riness, without  thought  of  any  interest 


UP,   AND   DOWN  AGAIN.  101 

outside  the  long  dingy  hall,  with  no  warn- 
ing remembrance  of  Bible  words  or  the 
holy  influences  of  the  Sunday-school  at 
home. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Phil 
found  his  way  once  more  to  the  fresh 
air  outside  that  dangerous  billiard-hall. 
How  strong  he  had  felt  when  he  care- 
lessly entered  the  door  a  few  hours  be- 
fore !  how  weak  now !  His  brain  was 
too  confused  by  the  liquor  he  had  swal- 
lowed from  time  to  time,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, for  him  to  comprehend  the 
extent  of  his  misery.  Stupidly  enough 
he  loitered  along  the  street  toward  the 
wagon.  He  tried  the  door  in  vain;  it 
was  locked  for  the  night.  Mr.  Brown 
must  be  inside,  but  it  was  evident  he  did 
not  mean  to  allow  his  assistant  to  enter. 
Phil  rattled  the  latch  for  some  moments, 
and  then  gave  up  the  attempt.  He 
turned  toward  the  public-house;  there 
was  room  for  him  there,  and  a  bed,  such 
as  it  was,  but  in  his  condition  anything 

9* 


102  PHIL    DERRY. 

satisfied  him  that  gave  a  chance  for  sleep- 
ing off  the  stupor  of  his  brain. 

The  next  morning,  while  Phil  still 
lay  unconscious,  a  loaferish  sort  of  man 
appeared  at  the  photograph-wagon  and 
demanded  of  Mr.  Brown  a  considerable 
sum  of  money.  Mr.  Brown  laughed  at 
first  and  treated  the  matter  as  a  joke, 
whereupon  the  man  got  angry  and  went 
off  in  search  of  certain  companions. 
These  he  brought  with  him  as  witnesses 
to  the  fact  that  Phil  had  gambled  the 
night  previous,  and  was  in  his  debt  to  the 
amount  he  had  stated.  Mr.  Brown,  in 
great  displeasure,  refused  to  consider 
himself  responsible  for  any  such  debts 
on  the  part  of  his  assistant.  High  words 
ensued ;  and  but  for  the  photographer's 
habitual  coolness  and  caution,  a  fight 
would  have  been  the  consequence.  As 
it  was,  a  violent  mob  soon  gathered  about 
the  wagon,  and  everybody  in  Clegg  Hole 
had  something  to  say  on  one  side  or  the 
other.  The  result  was  that  the  demand 


UP,   AND  DOWN   AGAIN.  103 

was  finally  paid,  Mr.  Brown  comforting 
himself  with  the  hope  of  getting  every 
cent  of  the  debt  paid  back  by  Jake 
Derry,  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  man  of 
some  means,  and  also  as  a  general  thing 
honourable  in  his  business  dealings. 
This  unpleasant  affair  put  an  end  to  any 
further  business  in  the  picture  line  at 
Clegg's  Hole,  and  before  the  day  ended 
old  Betsy  drew  the  wagon  and  its  much- 
injured  proprietor  several  miles  away 
from  the  scene  of  his  vexation. 

And  what,  meanwhile,  of  the  miserable 
boy,  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion  ? 
His  heavy  sleep  lasted  hour  after  hour, 
through  all  the  wrangling  that  went  on 
around  him  and  the  loud  talk  of  men 
passing  in  and  out  the  room  where  he 
was.  Nobody  noticed  him ;  the  excite- 
ment of  the  day  gathered  about  the 
wagon,  where  the  principal  characters  in 
the  quarrel  remained.  After  dinner  one 
of  the  women  of  the  family  came  and 
looked  at  the  hot,  disfigured  face,  laughed, 


104  PHIL   DERBY. 

and  passed  on.  At  night,  when  it  be- 
came known  that  Mr.  Brown  had  gone 
off  and  left  the  boy,  inquiries  began  to 
be  made  as  to  his  state.  Coarse  jokes 
were  passed  at  first,  but  by  and  by  these 
gave  place  to  expressions  of  sympathy 
for  the  poor  lad  and  some  anxiety  about 
his  prolonged  sleep. 

And  here  began  Phil   Perry's  expe- 
rience of  that  "bitter  afterward"  of  sin. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

AN  IMPORTANT  CHANGE. 

T  is  wonderful  how  chance  words 
stick  sometimes — rather,  I  should 
say,  words  that  we  call  chance; 
for  often  when  uttered  by  careless 
lips  God  guides  them  just  as  he  did  the 
smooth  stone  which  David  slung  at  Go- 
liath, and  they  fulfil  exactly  the  work  he 
intends.  When  Jenks  made  the  remark 
in  the  Eagleville  bar-room  that  the  land- 
lord's new  business  did  not  agree  very 
well  with  the  old  one,  he  had  no  thought 
of  making  an  impression  on  his  hearer's 
mind  beyond  the  passing  moment.  It 
was  only  Jenks — smoking,  drinking,  loaf- 
ing Jenks — that  spoke  the  words,  it  is 
true ;  it  was  God  who  aimed  them 
directly  at  Captain  Marks's  conscience, 
and  they  lodged  there  sharply  and  surely 

105 


106  PHIL    DERRY. 

as  did  the  pebble  in  the  Philistine's  fore- 
head. 

Things  went  on  in  the  store  for  several 
months  in  exactly  the  same  old  way. 
The  captain  performed  his  duties  as  su- 
perintendent on  Sunday,  and  on  all  the 
other  days  of  the  week  he  looked  after 
the  mail  and  the  hotel  business,  sold  tape 
and  tea  at  one  end  of  the  store,  tobacco 
and  whisky  at  the  other,  as  it  had  been 
his  habit  to  do.  Everybody  knew  that 
the  latter  articles  brought  the  larger  prof- 
its ;  the  captain,  being  a  shrewd  man  of 
business,  was  supposed  to  know  it  too,  and 
to  be  well  satisfied  with  the  traffic  that 
swept  so  much  money  into  his  till.  It 
was  therefore  a  greater  than  nine  days' 
wonder  to  the  people  of  Eagle ville  when 
toward  the  close  of  summer  a  big  placard 
appeared  outside  the  store  door  with  "  No 
liquor  of  any  kind  and  no  tobacco  sold 
here  on  or  after  present  date.  William 
Marks,  proprietor." 

The  set  of  regular  customers  who  daily 


AN   IMPORTANT   CHANGE.  107 

sat  around  the  stove  in  winter  and  lounged 
about  the  door  in  summer,  to  a  few  of 
whom  we  were  introduced  in  the  opening 
chapter,  treated  this  announcement  as  a 
joke,  and  went  in  the  store  the  morning 
the  placard  was  put  out,  expecting  to  get 
their  usual  drink  and  smoke,  and  a  good 
laugh  with  the  landlord  in  addition.  They 
were  disappointed.  There  was  no  shadow 
of  a  joke  in  the  captain's  friendly  but  reso- 
lute face  when  he  told  them  that  not  an- 
other paper  of  tobacco  nor  glass  of  whis- 
ky should  be  sold  over  that  counter — 
"  that  is,"  said  he,  reverently,  "  so  long 
as  the  Lord  gives  me  his  help."  The 
men  looked  at  him  and  at  each  other, 
feeling  half  ashamed  and  wholly  out  of 
temper. 

"  It's  all  along  of  that  Sunday-school 
business,"  muttered  Richards. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  along  of  that  Sunday- 
school  business,"  repeated  the  captain. 

"  Come,  now,  Marks,"  said  Jerry  Jones, 
the  blacksmith ;  "  own  up  there's  some 


108  PHIL    DERRY. 

hoax  about  this.  What!  do  you  want 
the  credit  of  being  a  blockhead,  throw 
away  the  chance  of  making  more  money 
than  anybody  else  in  Eagleville,  and  all 
for  a  whim  like  this  ?  I'll  not  believe  it 
of  you,  Marks.  Here,  hand  us  a  drink 
all  round." 

Jerry  held  out  a  handful  of  money, 
and  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  wheedling 
sort  of  way  intended  to  overcome  the  cap- 
tain's scruples.  Every  one  looked  eager- 
ly to  see  the  effect  of  Jerry's  action.  The 
only  answer  the  captain  made  was  a  groan 
as  he  stood  upright  behind  his  counter, 
looking  from  one  to  another,  then  he  took 
off  his  glasses  and  wiped  them  leisurely, 
and  wiped  away  the  perspiration  that  had 
gathered  in  great  beads  on  his  forehead ; 
next  he  took  his  Bible  from  the  shelf — 
well  thumbed  and  marked  it  was  now- 
opened  it  on  the  counter  between  him 
and  his  friends,  and  after  some  turning 
back  and  forth  cleared  his  voice  and  read 
aloud  to  his  ill-pleased  hearers: 


AN   IMPORTANT   CHANGE.  109 

"  Woe  to  him  that  giveth  his  neigh- 
bour drink,  that — " 

"  Humph  !"  was  the  interruption  of  an 
angry  voice.  "  Nobody  asks  you  to  give 
it ;  I  reckon  you  always  gets  your  fair 
profit." 

Undisturbed,  the  captain  finished  the 
verse,  and  turned  carefully  to  another 
place,  marked  by  a  slip  of  paper : 

"It  is  good  neither  to  eat  flesh  nor 
drink  wine,  nor  anything  whereby  thy 
brother  stumbleth,  or  is  offended,  or  is 
made  weak." 

The  reader  looked  up  when  he  had 
read  this,  as  if  to  see  what  effect  the 
words  produced. 

"Oh,  we  all  see  what  you're  driving 
at,"  said  one,  shortly,  "  but  just  you  keep 
an  eye  to  your  own  interests;  and  if  your 
brothers  here  stumble  or  fall,  it's  their 
look  out,  not  your'n.  I  thought  better 
of  you,  Marks,  than  to  take  up  such 
cant." 

"  Hsh-sh  !"  muttered  another,  jogging 
10 


110  PHIL   DERBY. 

the  last  speaker.  "  They're  Bible  words; 
better  not  grumble  at  'em." 

The  captain  paid  no  heed,  but  turned 
to  another  marked  passage  and  read : 

"  For  what  is  a  man  profited,  if  he  shall 
gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own 
soul?" 

Then  he  closed  the  book;  and  looking 
steadily  in  the  faces  of  the  men,  he  said 
with  gentle  firmness, 

"  Friends,  I  have  been  studying  over 
them  texts,  and  more  like  them,  for  many 
a  day.  The  missionary,  when  he  was 
here  last,  gave  me  some  tracts  that  made 
me  uneasy  in  my  mind  about  this  liquor- 
dealing;  they're  first-rate  reading,  and 
I'll  hand  'em  over  to  any  of  you  that'll 
study  'em  out  as  I  did." 

There  was  a  murmur  among  the  group 
at  this  that  intimated  plainly  that  such 
an  offer  was  quite  thrown  away. 

"  But  before  that,"  continued  the  speak- 
er, "  a  word  was  dropped  in  this  very  spot 
by  one  of  yourselves  that  set  me  think- 


AN    IMPOETANT    CHANGE.  Ill 

ing,  and  I've  never  poured  out  a  glass  of 
liquor  with  an  easy  mind  since." 

The  men  looked  at  one  another  with 
some  curiosity,  but  Jenks,  who  stood  a 
little  apart  whittling  a  stick,  gave  no  sign 
of  recollection  of  his  speech  about  "the 
old  business  and  the  new." 

"  I've  said  all  I've  got  to  say  about  my- 
self," said  Captain  Marks,  "and  all  I  wish 
now  is  that  you,  every  one,  may  come  to 
think  a,s  I  do.  It  would  be  a  sight  better 
for  yourselves  and  your  families  and  the 
town  in  general." 

The  captain  did  not  stop ;  he  was  get- 
ting warmed  with  his  subject,  and  would, 
perhaps,  have  talked  on  until  dinner- 
time, but  a  boy  came  in  to  buy  some 
starch  for  his  mother,  and  the  men  seized 
the  opportunity  to  slink  out  of  the  store, 
so  that  when  the  matter  of  business  was 
attended  to  the  proprietor  found  himself 
alone. 

As  the  day  wore  on  customers  came 
in,  and  every  one  had  something  to  say 


112  PHIL   DERRY. 

about  the  placard  that  hung  outside. 
Some  laughed,  others  grumbled,  a  very 
few,  and  they  women,  expressed  approval 
of  the  bold  step.  Mrs.  Mercy  Striker 
was  one  of  these  last.  She  shook  hands 
with  the  captain,  told  him  he  had  done 
just  what  she  had  been  expecting  all 
along,  and  assured  him  several  times  that 
she  would  stand  by  him.  Whether  this 
kind  offer  gave  him  as  much  comfort  as 
she  seemed  to  suppose  is  doubtful,  but 
her  sympathy  did  him  good.  The  most 
trying  hour  of  the  twenty-four  on  that 
and  several  succeeding  days  was  when  the 
train  came  in  and  the  usual  crowd  of  men 
jumped  off  to  get  a  drink.  The  oaths 
with  which  some  of  these  expressed  their 
disappointment  were  sad  to  hear.  "It's 
no  use,"  said  one  and  another ;  "  Marks'll 
have  to  fall  back  to  the  old  ways  or  else 
sell  out.  We  won't  put  up  with  it." 

The  captain  had  need  to  read  his 
strengthening  texts  over  many  times  in 
the  course  of  the  week  to  stablish  his 


AN   IMPORTANT  CHANGE.  113 

mind  especially  in  regard  to  the  question, 
"  What  is  a  man  profited  if  he  shall 
gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own 
soul  ?"  The  store,  that  formerly  was  gay 
with  jokes  and  laughter  from  morning 
till  night,  was  a  quiet  place  now;  the 
money  that  had  dropped  so  plentifully 
into  the  drawer  was  easily  counted  when 
it  came  only  from  sales  in  dry  goods  and 
groceries.  The  lodgers  in  the  hotel  were 
the  same  in  numbers,  because  there  was 
no  other  public-house  in  the  town ;  but 
as  Martha  and  her  mother  had  the  most 
to  do  with  their  entertainment,  the  cap- 
tain was  not  much  cheered  by  that  fact. 
The  Bible  during  these  days  got  in  a 
habit  of  opening  at  a  certain  place  in 
Proverbs  where  it  is  said,  "  The  blessing 
of  the  Lord  it  maketh  rich,  and  he  ad- 
deth  no  sorrow  with  it."  The  superin- 
tendent now  walked  into  Sunday-school 
with  an  erect  head  and  a  clear  conscience, 
and  his  words  of  counsel  were  given 
with  a  new  power  which  all  felt  though 
10*  H 


114  PHIL    DERRY. 

few  understood.  His  prayers,  too,  gath- 
ered such  strength  and  earnestness  in  the 
weekly  meetings  that  many  wondered 
what  had  come  over  their  leader,  and 
several  prophesied  that  there  would  be  a 
revival  in  Eagleville  before  long. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  a  rough 
shanty  was  erected  nearly  opposite  the 
hotel,  and  a  brilliant  signboard  an- 
nounced that  drinks  of  every  description 
would  be  supplied  to  customers.  Captain 
Marks  looked  over  at  the  rival  establish- 
ment with  a  sigh,  for  he  was  already 
enjoying  the  blessing  of  those  humble 
but  true  martyrs  who  give  up  worldly 
gain  and  the  praise  of  men  that  they 
may  win  a  conscience  void  of  offence 
and  rejoice  in  the  favour  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

STOKES'S   UNWELCOME  LODGER. 

T  last  Phil  Derry's  eyes  opened 
with  a  gleam  of  consciousness, 
and  his  ears  took  in  the  meaning 
of  the  words  spoken  at  his  bed- 
side. Between  the  night  of  his  gam- 
bling venture  and  the  present  lay  weeks 
of  helpless  suffering  and  a  nearness  to 
death  of  which  he  was  all  unconscious. 
How  bewildering  it  was  to  look  around 
upon  the  bare  walls  and  dingy,  uncur- 
tained window  and  try  to  recall  how  he 
came  to  be  there  and  what  was  the  last 
thing  that  happened !  It  came  gradually 
like  the  remembrance  of  an  ugly  dream ; 
first  the  scene  in  the  billiard-saloon,  then 
his  loss  and  the  dread  of  meeting  his 
employer.  He  wondered  if  he  had  over- 
slept himself  and  if  Mr.  Brown  was  out 

115 


116  PHIL    DERRY. 

in  the  wagon  at  work  alone.  Yes,  the 
sun  was  high ;  he  must  hurry  and  get  on 
his  clothes  and  go  look  after  old  Betsy. 
Perhaps  he  would  yet  be  in  time  to  make 
his  confession  to  Mr.  Brown  before  that 
gentleman  could  learn  the  disgraceful 
story  from  others.  As  this  resolve  took 
shape  in  the  boy's  mind  he  pushed  back 
the  bed-clothes  and  tried  to  lift  himself 
in  the  bed.  It  was  a  vain  effort;  he  fell 
back  exhausted,  and  for  some  moments 
lay  there  unconscious.  When  he  opened 
his  eyes  again,  there  stood  a  woman  with 
her  arms  akimbo  halfway  between  the 
bed  and  the  door,  gazing  at  him  with 
something  like  pity  expressed  on  her 
coarse  features.  Phil  returned  the  look 
for  a  moment  and  then  asked  how  late  it 
was. 

"  The  folks  has  just  set  down  to  din- 
ner," was  the  answer. 

"  Dinner  !  Oh  dear !  how  I  have  over- 
slept myself!"  was  Phil's  exclamation  as 
again  he  tried  to  raise  his  head  from  the 


STOKES'S   UNWELCOME    LODGER.         117 

pillow.  "  Has  my  boss  been  asking  where 
I  was  ?  Tell  him,  do  please,  that  I'll  be 
there  directly." 

The  impatient  movement  with  which 
these  words  were  uttered  resulted  just  as 
before.  The  boy  fell  back  fainting,  and 
the  woman  with  a  little  scream  of  alarm 
darted  toward  a  pail  of  water  that  stood 
in  the  room,  and  dashed  a  double  hand- 
ful in  his  face.  There  was  a  footstep  on 
the  creaky  stair,  and  somebody  entered 
the  room  softly  and  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  new- 
comer. 

"  He's  come  to  himself,  Mr.  Williston, 
all  of  a  sudden  like  and  begun  askin'  for 
his  boss  and  wantin'  to  get  up  and  go  to 
work.  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  the  one  to 
tell  him  how  the  other's  run  away  and 
left  him,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

The  woman  laughed  as  she  said  this, 
but  finished  with  a  suspicious  little  cough, 
and  as  she  turned  away  to  go  to  her 


118  PHIL,   DERRY. 

work  she  dabbed  her  eyes  with  the  clean- 
est corner  of  her  dirty  apron ;  it  might 
have  been  to  remove  a  cinder  or  fleck 
of  dust. 

Phil  recovered  from  his  faintness,  but 
he  lay  quite  still  after  this,  in  the  half- 
stupid  state  in  which  the  fever  had  left 
him,  and  did  not  attempt  to  rise  again. 
Mr.  Williston  seated  himself  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed  and  there  watched  the  poor 
thin  face  for  some  moments  with  eyes 
full  of  pity.  After  a  while  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  little  Bible,  and  for  more 
than  an  hour  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
room  but  the  sick  boy's  heavy  breathing 
and  the  occasional  turning  of  a  leaf. 
"  Water !"  at  last  came  in  an  indistinct 
murmur  from  the  parched  lips.  Mr. 
Williston  laid  down  his  book,  raised 
Phil's  head  very  tenderly,  and  gave  him 
a  drink  from  a  broken  tea-cup  that  had 
been  left  in  the  room  for  that  purpose. 
The  nurse  quietly  resumed  his  seat  and 
his  reading,  and  the  invalid  lay  back  on 


STOKES'S   UNWELCOME   LODGER.         119 

his  pillow  motionless  as  before.  The  eyes 
did  not  close  again,  however;  they  fixed 
their  gaze  full  on  the  calm  face  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  The  reader  was  con- 
scious of  the  look,  but  he  kept  his  eyes 
still  on  the  book  and  allowed  the  boy  to 
study  his  features  as  intently  as  he  chose. 
They  were  plain  features  enough,  just 
such  as  one  may  see  on  the  street  any 
day  and  pass  by  without  a  thought.  The 
nose  was  a  trifle  large,  the  mouth  firm, 
the  eyes  a  deep  steady  blue,  and  the  light, 
thick  hair  brushed  back  plainly  from  the 
forehead.  It  was  a  face  specially  unlike 
some  that  Mr.  Brown  had  taken  pictures 
of  on  this  very  trip.  But  with  faces,  as  with 
goblets  and  cups,  it  is  not  so  much  the 
pattern  in  which  they  are  modelled  that 
we  care  about,  as  it  is  what  they  contain. 
Some  faces  and  some  cups  have  nothing 
in  them  stronger  than  water,  some  again 
are  full  of  bitterness  that  we  turn  from 
in  disgust,  and  others  offer  us  tempting 
cordial,  the  very  sight  of  which  means 


120  PHIL   DERRY. 

refreshment.  To  be  sure,  no  such  thoughts 
passed  through  Phil's  mind  as  he  lay, 
weak  and  still,  watching  the  countenance 
of  his  companion.  He  was  conscious 
only  of  being  soothed  and  comforted  by 
it,  of  being  restored  for  the  time  to  his 
better  self,  the  self  that  had  felt  God's 
presence  in  the  dear  school-house  at 
home,  that  had  learned  his  will  from 
the  lips  of  Miss  Millett  and  the  little 
Testament  that  had  travelled  with  him 
all  the  way.  Oh,  why  was  he  so  changed  ? 
What  terrible  thing  had  happened  since 
he  was  that  former  self?  And  who  was 
this  man,  away  here  in  Clegg  Hole,  that 
he  should  bring  back  all  such  memories? 

Phil  started  and  sighed  because  of  his 
perplexity.  Mr.  Williston  closed  his 
book  and  looked  at  his  young  charge 
with  a  kind  smile.  The  boy  answered 
it  with, 

"  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  How  came  you 
here?  What  is  the  matter  with  me? 
Where  is  Mr.  Brown  ?  Oh,  do  tell  me 


STOKES'S    UNWELCOME   LODGER.         121 

all  about  it !  My  head  aches  with  try- 
ing to  think." 

Mr.  Williston  gently  placed  a  large 
cooi  hand  on  the  hot  forehead,  and  said 
gravely, 

"  I  cannot  answer  all  your  questions  at 
once,  Philip.  Try  and  be  satisfied  with 
learning  a  little  at  a  time.  You  have 
been  very  sick  for  several  weeks.  They 
thought  at  one  time  you  would  surely 
die,  but—" 

"They!"  interrupted  Phil;  "who  do 
you  mean  by  they  ?  Mr.  Brown,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  who  else  ?" 

"  I  mean  the  people  in  the  house.  Mr. 
Brown  has  gone  on.  They  have  been 
very  good  to  you." 

"  Have  I  been  so  sick  as  all  that  ?" 
moaned  the  invalid,  as  if  taking  in  a  new 
idea. 

"  Yes ;  so  sick  that  when  I  came  last 
Thursday,  Mr.  Stokes,  the  man  who  lives 
in  this  house,  you  know,  told  me  he 

hadn't  any  accommodation  for  me,  as  he 
11 


122  PHIL    DERRY. 

had  to  give  up  this  room  to  a  boy  who 
was  dying." 

A  thrill  of  dread  passed  through  Phil's 
weak  frame  at  these  words.  The  speaker 
went  on  without  seeming  to  notice  it : 

"  But  God  has  been  very  good  to  you, 
Philip.  He  has  spared  your  life  and 
given  you  another  chance  to  turn  away 
from  sin  and  prepare  for  eternity." 

Phil  covered  his  face  and  said  not  a 
word,  but  Mr.  Williston  was  aware  of  the 
quick,  troubled  breathing  by  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  coverlet,  and  said  nothing  more 
until  the  boy's  agitation  seemed  quieted. 
Then  he  opened  the  Bible  and  read  in  a 
clear  but  gentle  voice  the  fifty-first  Psalm ; 
and  when  he  had  finished,  he  knelt  and 
offered  in  Phil's  behalf  a  short  but  earn- 
est prayer.  Phil's  eyes  were  closed,  his 
breathing  regular,  and  Mr.  Williston,  sup- 
posing that  he  was  asleep,  left  the  room. 

After  a  while  the  woman  of  the  house 
came  up  with  a  bowl  of  gruel.  Phil  took 
it  in  silence ;  and  though  he  looked  at  her 


STOKES'S    UNWELCOME   LODGER.          123 

inquisitively,  he  did  not  ask  any  ques- 
tions, but  thanked  her  and  turned  his 
face  toward  the  wall. 

The  woman,  who  was  the  tavern-keep- 
er's wife,  and  known  in  Clegg  Hole  as 
Sukey  Stokes,  went  down  stairs  and  out 
to  the  barn,  where  her  husband  was  feed- 
ing the  horse. 

"That  young  fellow's  mending  fast." 
said  she. 

"  He'd  better,"  was  the  answer,  given 
in  a  rough  voice.  "  I've  lost  more'n  one 
lodger  by  havin'  him  sick  up  there  ;  and 
as  to  ever  gettin'  any  pay  for  all  the 
trouble  he's  cost  us,  I  may  whistle  for 
that,  I  s'pose." 

"  You  won't  turn  him  out,  Stokes  ?" 
asked  the  wife,  with  more  entreaty  in  her 
voice  than  the  words  showed. 

"  Won't  I,  though  ?  You  wait  till  he 
gets  on  his  feet,  and  see  what  I'll  do." 

Through  the  night  Phil  was  restless; 
he  was  conscious  of  his  pain  now,  and  his 
thirst  was  great.  The  pail  of  water  and 


124  PHIL   DERBY. 

the  broken  tea-cup  had  been  placed  with- 
in his  reach,  so  that  he  could  wait  on  him- 
self. The  room  was  dark  and  still,  and 
in  the  loneliness  of  the  night  the  words 
of  the  Psalm  read  to  him  a  few  hours  be- 
fore came  back  to  him,  though  not  dis- 
tinctly. He  began  repeating  some  of  the 
verses  aloud,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  them : 

" '  Hide  thy  face  from  my  sins  and  blot 
out  all  mine  iniquities. 

"  '  Create  in  me  a  clean  heart,  O  God, 
and  renew  a  right  spirit  within  me. 

" '  Cast  me  not  away  from  thy  presence, 
and  take  not  thy  Holy  Spirit  from  me.' 

"  And  take  not  thy  Holy  Spirit  from 
me,"  repeated  Phil.  "  I  wonder  what 
comes  next  ?" 

A  voice  quite  near  him  took  up  the 
Psalm  where  he  had  stopped :  " '  Restore 
unto  me  the  joy  of  thy  salvation,  and  up- 
hold me  with  thy  free  Spirit. 

" '  Then  will  I  teach  transgressors  thy 
ways,  and  sinners  shall  be  converted  unto 
thee.'" 


STOKES'S    UNWELCOME   LODGER.         125 

The  boy  was  startled  at  first  by  this 
unexpected  response,  for  he  had  supposed 
himself  quite  alone,  but  directly  he  rec- 
ognized the  voice  of  the  stranger  who 
had  sat  beside  him  in  the  afternoon,  and 
smiled  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  he,  when  the 
Psalm  ended.  "  I  thought  I  was  here 
alone  or  I  wouldn't  have  spoke  out  so. 
I  woke  you  up,  didn't  I  ?" 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  other,  "  but  that 
does  not  matter.  I  heard  you  groan  and 
was  afraid  you  were  in  a  good  deal  of 
pain.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all ;  I  feel  easier  now  and 
shall  go  to  sleep  again.  But  tell  me, 
sir,  what  part  of  the  room  are  you  in  ? 
I  did  not  know  there  was  another  bed 
here." 

"  There  is  not ;  I  have  a  pillow  and  a 
blanket  by  the  wall  exactly  opposite  you." 

"  Oh,  sir,  that  is  too  bad.  I  guess  I 
can  make  room  for  you  here.  This  bed 
is  hard  enough,  but  it's  better  than  none." 
11* 


126  PHIL   DERRY. 

"No,"  said  the  other;  "I  shall  do 
very  well.  I  have  slept  here  each  night 
since  I  came.  Mr.  Stokes  had  no  other 
place  to  give  me ;  and  as  to  that,  I  am  too 
used  to  travelling  about  this  Western 
country  to  be  very  particular  about  ac- 
commodations." 

It  was  on  Phil's  tongue  to  inquire  again 
who  this  unknown  friend  was,  but  the 
question  was  checked  by  his  companion's 
advice :  "  Go  to  sleep,  Philip ;  we  will  talk 
together  in  the  morning,  but  rest  is  most 
important  for  you  now.  Good-night." 

Presently  the  regular  breathing  of  his 
fellow-lodger  assured  the  boy  that  he  had 
taken  his  own  advice.  He  too  closed 
his  eyes  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  but  his 
newly-awakened  thoughts  were  too  busy. 
Who  was  this  man?  Where  had  he 
seen  the  cheerful,  earnest  face  before? 
Where  had  he  heard  that  voice?  It 
came  to  him  in  a  flash ;  how  stupid  of 
him  not  to  have  known  at  once!  This 
was  the  missionary  who  had  established 


STOKES'S    UNWELCOME   LODGER.         127 

the  Sunday-school  in  Eagleville.  This 
was  the  man  who  had  spoken  so  kindly 
to  him  as  he  sat  that  day  on  the  potato 
pile,  the  man  from  whom  his  mother  had 
bought  the  Bible.  It  was  only  the  lack 
of  bodily  strength  that  hindered  Phil 
from  darting  across  the  floor  to  embrace 
the  sleeper.  He  had  to  restrain  his  feel- 
ings of  gratitude  and  delight,  however, 
but  he  turned  over  with  a  sense  of  safety 
and  contentment  that  he  had  not  felt  for 
a  long  time.  He  did  not  yet  understand 
his  position  and  the  change  which  had 
come  to  him  through  his  folly  and  Mr. 
Brown's  consequent  departure,  but  he 
was  better  able  to  bear  the  knowledge  of 
all  this  now  that  he  had  found  so  true 
a  friend  to  lean  upon. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 

[ACH  day  after  this  showed  some 
improvement  in  Phil's  condition. 
He  sat  up,  he  walked  across  the 
room,  his  appetite  came  to  him ; 
before  long,  supported  by  his  true  friend, 
Mr.  Williston,  on  one  side,  and  Mrs. 
Stokes  on  the  other,  he  went  down  stairs 
and  looked  from  the  doorway  upon  the 
sky  and  the  far  reaching  prairie-land, 
still  brilliant  with  the  glory  of  summer. 
It  was  well  that  he  had  first  heard  the 
story  of  his  downfall  and  its  consequences 
from  the  kind  lips  of  the  missionary,  for 
as  soon  as  he  was  again  among  the  peo- 
ple of  the  place  he  had  to  hear  it  over  and 
over.  Some  laughed  at  him,  others  pitied, 
and  not  a  few  were  loud  in  their  expres- 

128 


A    FRIEND   IN    NEED.  129 

sions  of  contempt  for  that  "  mean  fellow, 
Brown,"  who  had  played  him  such  a 
trick.  Phil,  however,  had  the  honesty 
to  feel,  and  to  say  too,  that  all  the  mean- 
ness was  his  own,  and  that  he  could  not 
blame  Mr.  Brown  for  parting  company 
with  such  a  scapegrace  as  himself.  His 
pride  was  wounded  at  the  idea  of  having 
his  father  applied  to  for  payment  of  his 
gambling  debt,  and  he  resolved  to  go  to 
work  and  not  spare  himself  until  he  had 
earned  enough  to  repay  the  amount.  But 
the  necessity  of  work  was  soon  brought 
before  him  in  another  form.  Stokes,  the 
landlord,  watched  him  closely,  and  the 
first  time  that  he  made  the  attempt  to 
walk  out  of  doors  alone  he  followed  him 
and  addressed  him  in  a  very  crusty  tone : 

"  So  you're  on  your  legs  again  you 
young  rascal !" 

"  Yes ;  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  I 
am,"  was  Phil's  reply. 

"Thankful?  Humph!"  retorted  the 
landlord.  "Then  see  to  it  that  the  first 


130  PHIL    DERRY. 

use  you  put  them  to  is  to  get  yourself 
out  of  my  house.  The  victuals  and  medi- 
cine and  bother  you've  cost  me  count  up 
more  than  you're  worth,  enough  sight. 
So  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  pack  your  box 
and  find  other  lodgings  within  the  next 
twenty-four  hours." 

The  boy's  face  grew  pale,  and  he  had 
to  stop  and  lean  against  the  fence  for  a 
moment  before  he  could  steady  his  voice 
for  an  answer.  The  landlord  stopped  too, 
and  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  Mr.  Stokes,"  began  Phil,  with  diffi- 
culty, "  I  don't  blame  you  for  wanting  to 
get  rid  of  such  a  lodger  as  I.  All  you 
know  about  me  isn't  to  my  credit,  and,  as 
you  say,  I've  cost  more  than  I'm  worth." 
Here  he  had  to  pause  for  breath,  and 
then,  sinking  on  a  log  close  by  the  fence, 
he  went  on :  "  If  you've  got  any  work 
you'll  trust  me  to  do,  I  would  like  to  stay 
and  do  it  until  I  have  paid  you  up ;  or 
maybe  you  know  some  one  else  in  the 
place  who  wants  to  hire  a  boy  ?" 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  131 

It  was  a  very  contemptuous  glance  that 
Phil  received  as  the  only  answer  to  this 
proposal. 

"  I  have  worked,  indeed  I  have,"  said 
Phil,  with  a  struggle  to  keep  down  his 
pride  and  his  temper.  "  If  you  only 
knew  the  folks  at  Eagle ville,  there's 
more  than  one  there  that  would  speak  a 
good  word  for  me.  If  you'll  take  the 
trouble  to  write  and  ask,  I'll  give  you  the 
names  of  men  there  that  have  known  me 
all  my  life." 

"  No  need  to  take  that  trouble,"  said 
Mr.  Stokes,  sharpening  his  words  with  a 
hard  laugh.  "  We  all  know  you  pretty 
well  around  here — a  fellow  that  gets  drunk 
and  throws  away  his  master's  money  on 
billiards.  No,  I  want  none  of  your 
work.  But  stop !" 

The  landlord  paused  and  looked  hard 
at  Phil,  meanwhile  running  his  fingers 
through  his  bushy  beard,  as  he  was  apt 
to  do  when  thinking.  His  thought  this 
time  was  that  if  he  kept  the  boy  he 


132  PHIL  DEREY. 

might  easily  repay  himself  for  what  his 
board  had  cost — that  was  really  but  lit- 
tle ;  whereas  if  he  let  him  go  away  there 
was  no  likelihood  of  his  getting  back  a 
cent. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  you  can 
stay  here  for  another  day  or  so;  and  as  to 
the  matter  of  work,  I'll  think  it  over 
and  talk  to  Sukey  about  it.  Go  in-doors 
now ;  I  don't  want  you  sick  on  our  hands 
again." 

Mr.  Stokes  turned  away,  and  Phil 
walked  slowly  toward  the  house  where 
he  was  so  unwelcome  a  guest.  He  dragged 
himself  up  the  stairs  wearily,  and  felt 
sick  at  heart  as  he  thought  how  poorly 
fitted  he  was  just  then  to  earn  by  his 
labour  the  worth  of  a  single  meal. 

Mr.  Williston  was  in  the  room  waiting 
for  him.  He  glanced  at  Phil's  pale  face, 
and  then  without  a  word  stepped  forward, 
grasped  his  arm,  and  placed  him  on  the 
bed. 

"  There,  now !   lie  still  until  you  are 


A   FRIEND   IN   NEED.  133 

rested.  You  have  been  overdoing ;  I  see 
I  must  not  trust  you  out  of  sight  so  long 
again." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Williston,"  groaned  Phil,  "  I 
don't  know  but  what  it  would  have  been 
better  for  everybody  if  I  had  died;  it 
would  have  saved  trouble  enough." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  no  such  talk  as  that !" 
said  the  other.  "  Is  that  your  gratitude 
to  God  and  your  friends  ?" 

With  a  choking  voice  Phil  repeated 
the  substance  of  his  conversation  with 
Mr.  Stokes,  and  added  that  even  if  the 
landlord  should  relent  and  allow  him  to 
pay  his  debt  by  work,  he  feared  he  should 
not  be  able  to  do  anything  for  some  time. 

Mr.  Williston  laughed,  not  mockingly, 
as  the  landlord  had  done,  for  there  was 
more  pity  than  mirth  in  his  tone  and  face: 

"  Let  him  send  his  bill  to  your  father ; 
he  is  able  to  pay  it,  and  no  doubt  will- 
ing." 

"  Never,  sir,"  said  Phil,  hoarse  with  ex- 
cited feeling.  "There's  Mr.  Brown  on 
12 


134  PHIL    DERBY. 

the  way  to  him  DOW  with  that  shameful 
debt  to  lay  before  him.  Oh,  I'm  paying 
dear  for  a  few  hours'  fun." 

"  Indeed  you  are,  my  poor  lad !"  said 
the  missionary  with  a  sigh.  He  did  not 
add,  "  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard," 
nor  "  He  that  soweth  the  wind  shall  reap 
the  whirlwind,"  though  these  texts  did 
flash  across  his  mind,  for  the  thought 
came  also  to  him  of  One  who  would  not 
break  the  bruised  reed,  and  Phil's  accus- 
ing conscience  needed  just  now  no  such 
aids. 

"  Do,  Mr.  Williston,  give  me  some  ad- 
vice. You  are  the  best  friend  I  have  in 
the  world." 

The  answer  to  this  appeal  came  after 
five  minutes  or  so,  during  which  Phil's 
friend  paced  the  floor  to  and  fro  in 
thought.  He  came  back  then  to  his  seat 
beside  the  bed  : 

"  What  do  you  say  to  engaging  your- 
self to  work  for  me  instead  of  Mr. 
Stokes?" 


A   FRIEND   IN   NEED.  135 

Phil  started  at  once  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  the  smile  on  the  missionary's  face 
was  reflected  on  his  own  : 

"  Work  for  you,  sir  ?  Oh  how  glad  I 
should  be !  But  I  am  not  used  to  your 
kind  of  work ;  I  don't  see  how  I  could 
make  myself  useful  to  you  at  all."  The 
smile  had  quite  faded  away  before  he 
stopped  speaking. 

"  What  kind  of  work  do  you  suppose 
I  have  to  do,  Philip?"  was  the  next 
question. 

"  Why,  sir,  all  I  know  is  that  you  go 
from  one  place  to  another  starting  Sun- 
day-schools, and  trying  to  make  Chris- 
tians out  of  the  heathenish  people  you 
find." 

"  Well,  that  is  about  it,"  mused  the 
other.  "  I  do  what  I  can,  and  look  to 
the  Lord  for  the  result." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  you  ?"  asked 
Phil,  anxious  to  keep  his  friend  to  the 
point. 

"  You  can  go  with  me  from  place  to 


136  PHIL   DERRY. 

place.  You  know  a  good  deal  about  the 
manner  of  starting  a  Sunday-school  from 
what  you  have  seen  at  Eagleville.  You 
can  help  me  in  encouraging  the  people 
to  come  together,  in  distributing  tracts,  in 
teaching,  perhaps,  for  a  start.  I  cannot 
tell  you  exactly  what  I  may  require  of 
you ;  but  if  you  agree  to  my  proposal,  I 
will  settle  this  man's  bill  at  once,  and 
take  as  a  return  from  you  such  services 
as  I  have  mentioned." 

Mr.  Williston  said  so  much  and  no 
more.  He  did  not  tell  of  the  wakeful 
hours  at  night  in  which  he  had  pondered 
over  Phil's  future  and  asked  counsel  of 
his  God  as  to  how  he  should  release  the 
lad  from  his  present  unsafe  position,  how 
he  might  protect  him  from  the  evil  in- 
fluences arouncf  him,  and  guide  him  by 
God's  blessing  into  the  safe  and  narrow 
way  that  leads  to  life  eternal.  In  watch- 
ing beside  Phil's  sick-bed  he  had  formed 
a  strong  attachment  for  the  boy,  and  the 
present  crisis  of  affairs  had  quickly  de- 


A    FRIEND   IN    NEED.  137 

cided  him  in  a  well-considered  plan.  He 
would  take  him  along  in  his  journeys; 
he  would  make  him  an  assistant  in  his 
work,  so  far  as  possible ;  his  salary  should 
be  made  to  suffice  for  the  needs  of  two 
instead  of  one ;  and  as  for  this  bill  to  the 
tavern,  a  little  extra  self-denial  would 
easily  accomplish  that. 

As  to  Phil's  answer  when  the  matter 
was  thus  presented,  it  is  quite  needless  to 
give  it.  It  seemed  as  if  a  new  life  had 
opened  before  him.  His  anxiety  was 
removed  like  a  great  burden  from  his 
heart ;  even  the  humiliation  caused  by  the 
thought  of  his  recent  disgrace  was  lost 
sight  of  in  the  prospect  of  usefulness. 
His  strength  came  back  rapidly  after  this, 
for  the  spirit  helped  the  body.  Much  of 
his  time  was  spent  in  studying  the  Bible 
and  committing  to  memory  the  hymns 
that  his  friend  marked  for  him  in  the 
well-worn  book  that  had  gone  in  his 
pocket  on  many  a  missionary  journey. 
Oh,  these  were  happy  days — happy  as 

12* 


138  PHIL  DERRY. 

they  passed  along,  and  happy  to  look 
back  upon  from  the  distant  future  years. 
Clegg  Hole  was  no  longer  the  forbidding 
place  which  it  had  hitherto  appeared. 
Phil  looked  upon  it  through  different 
eyes  henceforth.  More  than  that,  Clegg 
Hole  was  in  itself  different  from  the 
wretched  place  it  had  been  when  Na- 
than Brown's  wagon  had  first  stopped 
before  its  tavern  door.  Mr.  Williston 
had  come  there  while  Phil  lay  uncon- 
scious, had  held  a  meeting  and  visited 
the  people  in  their  homes.  He  had  tried 
to  establish  a  Sunday-school — without 
success,  it  is  true ;  but  still  the  very  effort 
had  made  such  an  impression  on  the 
minds  of  many  that  in  due  time  fruit 
was  sure  to  come  of  it.  So  the  good  man 
lingered  there,  working,  waiting  and 
hoping,  unwilling  to  give  up  the  plan  of 
making  a  beginning  at  least  of  Sunday- 
school  organization. 

Mr.  Stokes  became  very  civil  when  he 
found  that  his  sick  lodger  had  a  friend  to 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  139 

take  his  part ;  and  when,  as  soon  as  the 
time  was  set  for  departure,  Mr.  Williston 
asked  for  the  amount  of  Philip  Derry's 
bill  at  the  tavern  as  well  as  his  own,  and 
made  known  his  intentions  concerning 
the  lad,  the  landlord  was  all  smiles  and 
kindness.  Sukey  Stokes  found  it  neces- 
sary to  use  the  corner  of  her  apron  a 
good  many  times  when  she  learned  that 
Phil  was  going,  and  comforted  herself  by 
preparing  a  supply  of  eatables,  the  dain- 
tiest she  could,  for  the  travellers  to  take 
with  them. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

TRAVEL  AND   TALK. 

I  GAIN  upon  the  road  was  our  Phil. 
An  unknown  country  lay  around 
him  now  as  well  as  an  unknown 
work  before  him.  Mr.  Williston 
was  a  very  different  companion  from 
Nathan  Brown,  and  altogether  our  hero 
felt  as  one  who  turns  over  several  leaves 
at  once  in  a  story-book  and  finds  it  hard 
to  see  the  connection  between  the  new 
page  and  what  has  gone  before. 

"  Tell  me,  sir,"  said  he,  after  they  had 
been  riding  for  some  time  in  silence : 
"  what  do  you  do  when  you  get  to  a  regu- 
lar hard  place  ?" 

"  Tell  me  first  what  you  mean  by  a 
'  regular  hard  place,' "  answered  Mr.  Wil- 
liston. 

"  Oh,  one  where  they  have  never  heard 

140 


TRAVEL   AND   TALK.  141 

about  Sunday-schools,  don't  have  any 
meeting,  and,  more  than  that,  don't  want 
any.  Eagleville  was  bad  enough  before 
you  went  there,  but  I  know  there's  lots  of 
worse  places  all  around.  I  should  think 
sometimes  they'd  swear  at  you  and  slam 
the  door  in  your  face  when  they  found 
out  what  you  wanted." 

"  So  they  do,  again  and  again." 

This  answer  was  given  as  if  such  treat- 
ment were  quite  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Then  what  do  you  do  ?" 

"  I  generally  find  one  man  at  least  in 
a  village  who  is  willing  to  help  me  in  my 
missionary  work." 

"  Well,  suppose  there  was  not  even 
one,"  persisted  Phil. 

"I  should  still  try  to  find  a  place 
where  I  could  gather  the  people  and  tell 
them  the  object  for  which  I  had  come." 

"  Suppose  they  would  not  come  to  your 
meeting." 

"  Then  I  would  go  from  house  to  house 
and  talk  to  all  who  would  listen.  I  would 


142  PHIL   DERRY. 

leave  tracts  and  Sunday-school  papers, 
and  sell  Bibles  and  religious  books." 

"  What  if  they  would  not  read  the 
tracts  nor  buy  the  Bibles  ?"  Phil  smiled, 
for  he  was  sure  he  had  driven  Mr. 
Williston  into  a  corner  at  last.  "  I 
know,"  he  went  on,  "  that  there  are  just 
such  bad  places  about  the  country,  and 
I  don't  see  anything  you  could  do  but 
just  get  away  from  them  as  fast  as  you 
could." 

"  You  are  right,  Philip ;  there  are  a 
few  just  such  hard  places.  I  have  found 
one  or  two." 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  sir  ?" 

"  When  the  people  would  not  hear  me, 
God  would.  When  they  shut  their  doors 
against  me,  I  have  found  a  quiet  spot 
where  I  could  lay  the  matter  before  him 
in  prayer.  Then  I  have  tried  again  to 
interest  the  people,  and  sometimes  I  have 
found  it  best  to  go  away  altogether  and 
after  a  time  make  another  visit  and  try 
again.  There's  Clegg  Hole.  This  is  the 


TRAVEL    AND   TALK.  143 

third  time  I've  been  there,  and  it  don't 
seem  as  if  I  had  done  much  toward  a 
Sunday-school,  after  all." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  get  tired  out 
with  trying,  sir ;  don't  you  ever  feel  like 
giving  up  ?" 

"  Giving  up !  I  should  if  it  all  de- 
pended on  me — yes,  indeed ;  but  it  does 
not,  Philip.  I  must  work,  but  whether 
with  success  or  failure  it  is  for  God  to 
decide.  I  leave  it  all  with  him,  and  know 
things  will  come  out  right. 

'  'Tis  he  that  works  to  will ; 

'Tis  he  that  works  to  do ; 
His  is  the  power  by  which  we  act; 
His  be  the  glory  too.'  " 

Such  tenderness  came  into  Mr.  Willis- 
ton's  voice  as  he  repeated  these  lines, 
more  as  if  communing  with  his  own  heart 
than  addressing  another,  that  his  young 
companion  turned  to  look  at  him.  The 
blue  eyes  were  full  of  joyful  light,  and 
the  firm  lips  seemed  pressed  together  to 
give  emphasis  to  the  words  they  had  just 


144  PHIL   DERRY. 

uttered.  Phil  wondered,  but  he  did  not 
ask  any  more  questions. 

Mr.  Williston  took  his  little  Bible  from 
his  pocket  and  began  reading.  Phil  could 
not  interrupt  him  with  any  more  conver- 
sation, so  he  sat  quiet  and  tried  to  find 
something  interesting  in  the  level  country 
through  which  they  passed  at  a  slow  rate. 
They  were  in  a  stage-coach,  and  the  miles 
seemed  very  long  and  tiresome — much 
longer  than  when  Phil  had  held  the 
reins  over  old  Betsy's  back  on  his  last 
journey.  Left  thus  to  himself,  there 
came  back  to  his  mind  more  than  one 
conversation  with  Mr.  Williston  held  in 
the  shabby  garret  at  Clegg  Hole,  the 
scene  of  so  much  shame  and  suffering. 

The  stage  stopped  at  length  to  change 
horses,  and  the  travellers  were  ushered 
into  a  solitary-looking  farm-house  to  get 
dinner.  A  good-natured  Irishman  came 
to  the  door  at  the  sound  of  the  wheels, 
and  a  troop  of  chubby  children  followed 
him  to  have  a  good  stare  at  the  new  com- 


TRAVEL   AND   TALK.  145 

ers.  A  good  rest  and  a  hearty  meal 
proved  very  refreshing. 

"  I've  got  another  passenger  for  yez, 
Parkins,"  said  the  host  to  the  driver. 

"Ay,  ay!"  said  Parkins;  "and  who's 
that?" 

Before  there  was  time  for  an  answer 
an  elderly  woman  entered  the  room, 
bringing  a  bag  and  two  or  three  parcels. 
The  Irishman  introduced  her  to  the 
driver  and  the  rest  as  "  Mrs.  Carpenter,  a 
foine  woman,  intirely,"who  had  been  stay- 
ing with  his  wife  a  while  to  help  her  along 
with  her  sewing,  and  now  was  going  home 
again  "  to  her  folks  at  Shunem."  This 
was  the  destination  which  Mr.  Williston 
had  proposed  for  himself  and  Phil.  This 
region  was  new  to  the  missionary ;  and 
when  they  had  fairly  started  again  on  the 
road,  he  began  making  some  inquiries 
about  things  and  people  at  Shunem. 

"  It's  a  small  place,  sir,  and  a  poor  one," 
was  Mrs.  Carpenter's  report,  "  but  for  all 
that  I  like  it ;  perhaps  that's  because  I 

13  K 


146  PHIL   DERRY. 

have  got  those  nearest  to  me  there, 
which  I  did  not  have  while  I  stayed  East." 

"  What  do  you  think  will  be  the  like- 
lihood of  our  being  able  to  start  a  Sun- 
day-school at  Shunem  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  is  that  your  business  ?"  asked 
the  woman,  with  a  sudden  brightness  in 
her  plain  face.  "  Are  you  the  man  that 
did  such  a  great  work  at  Corley  Creek 
last  year  ?"  She  leaned  forward  and  look- 
ed eagerly  in  the  missionary's  face  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

"  I  was  there — yes ;  and  the  Lord  was 
there  too,  working  with  me.  I  always 
like  to  recall  that  time  at  Corley  Creek 
when  tempted  to  be  discouraged.  You 
seem  to  know  something  about  the  place, 
ma'am ;  can  you  tell  me  any  news  from 
there?" 

"  No ;  all  I  ever  heard  about  it  was 
through  my  nephew  there,  Joel  Bardon, 
sir ;  perhaps  you  may  remember  him  ?  A 
young  man  he  is;  but  what  with  his  wild 
ways  and  bad  company,  to  say  nothing 


TRAVEL    AND   TALK.  147 

of  his  ague  fits,  he  was  fast  growing  old. 
It  was  a  joyful  day  for  his  wife,  sir,  when 
you  preached  that  sermon,  '  Believe  on 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be 
saved.'  It  was  the  Lord  himself  that 
put  the  words  in  your  mouth  that  day, 
to  be  sure.  What  it  did  for  other  folks 
I  can't  tell,  though  I've  heard  there  was 
a  great  stirring  among  the  dry  bones,  and 
that  they  have  held  prayer-meetings  from 
house  to  house  ever  since." 

Phil  listened  attentively,  and  found  his 
own  heart  catching  something  of  the  glow 
that  lighted  up  the  two  faces  before  him. 
He  was  glad  that  Joel  Bardon  had  re- 
formed, and  that  they  had  prayer-meet- 
ings at  Corley  Creek.  But  why  ?  "  It's 
none  of  my  business,"  said  one  half  of 
Phil's  self  to  the  other  half;  for  indeed 
it  did  appear  to  the  perplexed  boy  as  if 
there  were  two  distinct  characters  com- 
bined to  make  up  the  one  Philip  Derry, 
and  as  if  these  two  were  always  fighting 
within  him.  "  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian; 


148  PHIL   DERRY. 

I  wish  things  would  happen  with  me  just 
as  they  did  with  that  Joel  Bardon."  The 
wish  was  a  silent  one,  but  the  sigh  it 
brought  to  his  lips  made  the  other  two 
pause  in  their  talk  and  look  at  him. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Mr.  Williston  ; 
"you're  tired  out  with  this  jolting;"  and 
then  he  began  explaining  to  Mrs.  Car- 
penter how  ill  his  young  friend  had  been, 
and  that  he  was  hardly  strong  enough  to 
bear  the  journey. 

Mrs.  Carpenter  nodded  at  Phil,  as 
much  as  to  say  she  knew  all  about  it, 
though  of  course  she  did  not ;  she  would 
not  have  smiled  so  cheerily  if  she  had, 
perhaps. 

"  The  Lord  had  some  more  work  for 
you  to  do,  I  reckon.  It's  a  blessed  thing 
to  see  one  so  young  as  you  taking  up  the 
work  of  a  missionary." 

The  boy  moved  uneasily  on  his  seat. 
How  little  did  that  good  woman  know  the 
sting  that  was  in  her  kind  words!  Mr. 
Williston  evidently  read  the  boy's  feel- 


TRAVEL    AND   TAL.K. 

ings  from  the  troubled  expression  of  his 
face,  and  he  hastened  to  turn  the  conver- 
sation by  inquiring  of  Mrs.  Carpenter 
some  particulars  in  regard  to  Shunem, 
and  what  likelihood  there  was  of  his  be- 
ing able  to  do  any  good  there. 

"  Ah,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  "  if  you'd 
asked  those  questions  six  months  ago,  I'd 
have  told  you  not  to  waste  your  precious 
time  in  going  to  Shunem,  for  then  there 
wasn't  one  in  the  place,  man,  woman,  or 
child,  that  would  have  listened  to  a  word 
about  religion — that  is,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
penter, reverently  and  interrupting  her- 
self, "  if  the  Lord  in  his  goodness  had 
not  prepared  the  way  for  you.  But 
shame  on  me  to  speak  so,  after  the  way 
he's  been  blessing  that  dear  child,  Hallie 
Hope !" 

"  Hallie  Hope !"  echoed  the  mission- 
ary. "  Who  is  she,  Mrs.  Carpenter  ?  I 
see  you  have  something  pleasant  to  tell 
me  by  the  look  of  your  face." 

"  Well,  you  must    know  " — and  here 

13  * 


150  PHIL   DERRY. 

Mrs.  Carpenter  leaned  forward  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  her  eyes  peering  up 
into  those  of  her  fellow-traveller,  and 
the  air  of  one  who  has  pleasant  news  to 
tell — "you  must  know  that  Hallie  Hope — 
Well,  all  I  can  say  of  her  is  that  the  Lord 
cast  her  into  the  midst  of  us  much  as 
Elisha  threw  the  salt  into  the  water  at 
Jericho  and  turned  them  from  bitter  to 
sweet." 

A  smile  brightened  Mr.  Williston's 
face,  not  only  on  account  of  the  pleasant 
information,  but  at  the  discovery — so  rare, 
alas !— of  one  who  was  familiar  enough 
with  the  Bible  to  bring  forward  such  a 
comparison. 

"Andrew  Hope  came  to  Shunem," 
continued  the  narrator,  "  with  his  family, 
not  for  the  sake  of  making  money,  like 
the  rest  of  'em,  but  on  account  of  his 
health.  The  doctor  had  told  him  that 
his  only  chance  for  life  was  to  get  into 
one  of  these  Western  towns  and  rough 
it.  All  the  roughing  in  the  world '11 


TRAVEL   AND  TALK.  151 

never  make  a  well  man  of  him,  it's  my 
opinion ;  still,  he  may  hold  out  a  little 
longer,  maybe,  by  the  change.  The  doc- 
tor, whoever  he  was,  failed  in  his  design 
in  sending  the  Hope  family  here,  but  the 
Lord  had  another  design  ;  and  we  know, 
sir,"  with  a  nod  of  mutual  understand- 
ing toward  the  missionary,  "  that  his  de- 
signs never  fail." 

"  Ay,  we  know  that  the  Lord's  designs 
never  fail,"  echoed  he,  reverently,  and 
addressing  himself  rather  than  his  trav- 
elling companion. 

"  Well,  the  Hopes  hadn't  been  among 
us  more  than  a  week  or  so  before  Hallie — 
she's  their  only  daughter,  and  she  don't 
look  a  day  older  than  my  Mary  Ann 
that's  just  turned  sixteen — she  went 
round  among  the  youngsters  and  made 
friends  with  'em  right  off.  She  coaxed 
'em  by  her  sweet  ways  to  come  to  her 
every  day  for  an  hour  or  two  to  be 
taught.  The  parents  were  willing  enough, 
and  so  Hallie  is  doing  her  best  with  the 


152  PHIL    DERRY. 

wild  things  at  reading  and  spelling.  It 
wasn't  for  that,  though,  you  may  be  sure, 
that  she  gathered  them  together.  Every 
day  she  prays  with  the  children  and 
teaches  them  sweet  little  hymns;  and, 
sir,  the  way  that  girl  talks  to  them  about 
the  Lord  Jesus  and  the  love  he  showed 
in  dying  on  the  cross  for  them — oh,  it's 
enough  to  melt  the  heart  of  any  old  sin- 
ner in  the  place." 

Here  Mrs.  Carpenter  stopped  to  get  out 
her  handkerchief,  for  her  own  heart  was 
melting,  it  seemed,  and  was  sending  the 
moisture  to  her  eyes. 

"  You  may  be  sure,  sir,"  she  continued, 
presently,  "  that  Hallie's  the  one  out  of 
all  Shunem  to  help  you  start  a  Sunday- 
school.  She's  been  preparing  the  way 
for  it  right  along." 

They  rode  on  in  silence  for  a  mile  or 
so,  each  one  thinking  in  his  or  her  own 
way  about  the  young  girl  who  was  doing 
such  a  Christian  work  among  the  chil- 
dren of  Shunem.  Phil  groaned  inwardly 


TRAVEL   AND    TALK.  153 

with  shame  as  the  contrast  rose  to  mind 
between  himself  and  this  Hallie  Hope — 
a  girl  not  far,  it  seemed,  from  his  own 
age — he  having  disgraced  himself  and 
given  so  much  trouble  to  his  employer 
and  friends,  she  labouring  in  this  poor 
Western  town  like  a  true  soldier  of 
Christ  to  win  others  to  his  service.  It 
was  a  very  humiliating  contrast  indeed, 
and  Phil  would  have  driven  it  from  his 
mind  and  substituted  some  pleasanter 
thought  if  he  could,  but  this  one  stuck 
there  like  a  burr. 

At  last  the  travellers  arrived  at  their 
destination.  Mr.  Williston  inquired  about 
the  tavern  with  a  view  to  getting  accom- 
modations there  for  himself  and  Phil, 
but  their  new  friend  would  not  hear  of 
such  a  thing. 

"  My  son  and  his  wife'll  give  you  a 
hearty  welcome,"  said  good  Mrs.  Carpen- 
ter. "  Our  ways  are  those  of  plain  folks, 
to  be  sure,  but  you'll  be  treated  as  well 
at  Jim's  as  at  any  other  house  in  Shunem, 


154  PHIL    DEKRY. 

if  I  do  say  it,"  was  the  satisfied  remark 
of  the  mother ;  "  and  if,  sir,"  she  con- 
tinued, an  anxious  shade  coming  over  her 
kind  face — "  if  you  could  only  give  my 
boy  a  helping  hand  toward  the  door  of 
the  kingdom,  if  you  could — " 

Mrs.  Carpenter  turned  her  face  away 
and  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

The  invitation  was  readily  accepted, 
and  Parkins  set  down  his  three  passen- 
gers at  the  door  of  James  Carpenter's 
house. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A  MORNING   OUT  OF  DOOES. 

CORDIAL  welcome  was  given 
to  Mr.  Williston  and  Phil  by  the 
young  couple  whose  home  they 
so  unexpectedly  invaded.  "  Mo- 
ther's friends  are  ours,"  said  James  Car- 
penter, "  and  we  are  glad  to  see  you." 
The  hearty  handshaking  which  accom- 
panied the  welcoming  words  left  no  doubt 
of  their  sincerity.  The  buzz  of  family 
talk  was  kept  up  until  late  in  the  day. 
"Mother"  had  to  relate  every  detail  of 
her  visit  and  to  hear  all  the  small  events 
that  had  occurred  during  her  absence,  to 
hold  the  baby,  feel  its  gums  to  see  if  a 
tooth  was  coming,  and  give  her  opinion 
as  to  how  many  pounds  heavier  it  was 
than  when  she  left.  All  the  recent  Shu- 
nem  gossip  had  to  be  repeated,  too.  So 

155 


156  PHIL    DERRY. 

it  happened  that  our  two  travellers  had 
no  opportunity  of  making  the  needed 
inquiries  about  the  religious  state  of  the 
town,  and  had  to  content  themselves  with 
resting  and  planning  for  the  morrow's 
work. 

The  next  morning's  sun  rose  bright 
and  fair,  and  after  an  early  breakfast 
the  good  missionary  started  forth  to  see 
how  far  the  Lord  had  prepared  the  way 
for  him  in  Shunem.  He  would  not  con- 
sent that  Phil  should  accompany  him, 
for  the  pale  face  of  the  recent  invalid 
showed  that  he  had  need  of  rest.  When 
left  to  himself,  Phil  took  his  Bible  and 
a  few  tracts  that  Mr.  Williston  had  left 
lying  on  the  table,  and  slowly  sauntered 
out  in  the  direction  of  a  shady  little 
brook  in  view  from  the  window  of  the 
room  in  which  he  had  slept.  He  car- 
ried the  tracts  .and  Bible  with  him, 
hardly  with  an  intention  of  reading 
them,  but  with  a  vague  longing  that  his 
eyes  might  fall  upon  some  word  of  God 


A    MORNING   OUT  OF    DOORS.  157 

that  might  prove  to  be  a  direct  message 
to  him.  He  wanted  to  be  a  Christian, 
but  he  knew  not  how  to  begin ;  he  de- 
sired to  draw  near  to  God,  but  how  should 
he,  with  so  many  sins  upon  his  conscience? 
He  found  a  retired  seat  under  a  great 
tree  that  spread  its  branches  far  out  over 
the  water,  and  taking  up  his  Bible  turned 
over  its  leaves  as  "  a  certain  man  drew 
his  bow  "  at  a  venture.  The  book  opened 
at  the  51st  Psalm.  He  read  each  verse 
over  and  over  again,  thinking  of  the  day 
when  Mr.  Wil listen  had  sat  beside  his 
bed  in  Clegg  Hole  and  read  those  words 
of  penitence  that  then  seemed  as  if  writ- 
ten for  his  very  case.  He  closed  the  book 
and  sat  there  a  long  time,  trying  to  turn 
the  Psalm  into  a  prayer.  All  at  once  he 
heard  a  rustling  in  the  branches  above 
his  head ;  he  started  and  looked  up. 
Among  the  leaves  he  discovered  two 
roguish  faces  not  so  clean  as  they  might 
be,  but  brimful  of  fun. 

"  Hal  loo!"    shouted    a   child's    voice. 

14 


158  PHIL   BERRY. 

"We've  been  here  a-watchin'  you  ever 
so  long,  hain't  we,  Dan  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other  urchin, 
"  to  be  sure  we  have.  'Spose  you're  one 
o'  them  strangers  that  come  to  Jim  Car- 
penter's house  yesterday  ?" 

Phil  nodded  his  head  and  smiled  at 
the  little  fellows,  who  were  near  the  size 
of  his  own  brother.  Sam. 

"Come  down  and  see  me,"  said  he, 
kindly. 

In  another  moment  both  children  were 
at  his  side. 

"What  book's  that?"  asked  one. 
"  Got  any  pictures  in  it  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Phil,  "  no  pictures, 
but  it's  full  of  pretty  stories.  Shall  I 
tell  you  one  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  do,"  was  the  answer ;  "  not  a 
long  one,  though,  for  it's  pretty  near 
school-time." 

"Why,  it's  a  Bible,"  said  the  other 
boy.  "  We  know  lots  o'  them  stories, 
don't  we,  Bob?" 


A    MORNING    OUT   OF    DOORS.  159 

"  Do  you  really  ?"  asked  Phil,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. 

"  Course  we  do.  Miss  Hallie  tells  us 
one  most  every  day.  She  knows  'em, 
she  does ;  there's  nothing  Miss  Hallie 
don't  know." 

"  You've  heard  about  Adam  and  Eve, 
then?"  said  their  new  friend. 

"  Adam  and  Eve !  I  should  think  so," 
returned  the  boy  who  had  first  spoken. 

"Cain  and  Abel?  Samson?  David?" 
questioned  Phil  as  he  turned  the  leaves. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  little  boys ;  "  we 
know  them  by  heart." 

"  And  Goliath,"  continued  one. 

"  And  Joseph  and  his  brothers,"  added 
the  other. 

"  And  Solomon  ;"  but  this  was  uttered 
in  a  doubtful  tone. 

"  No,  Dan,  that's  the  one  Miss  Hallie's 
to  tell  us  to-day,  if  we  say  our  spellin' 
without  a  miss." 

"  You  have  heard  about  Jesus  Christ, 
then,  and  all  the  great  things  he  did  ?" 


160  PHIL   DERRY. 

The  children  nodded. 

"  We'd  like  to  hear  'era  over,  though. 
Let's  have  that  one  about  the  prodigal 
son.  Teacher  told  us  that  yesterday,  but 
I'd  like  to  hear  it  again." 

Soon  all  three,  narrator  as  well  as 
hearers,  were  interested  in  the  beautiful 
parable,  and  they  might  have  sat  there 
under  the  tree  the  whole  morning  but 
for  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  bell  that  started 
both  children  to  their  feet. 

"  We've  got  to  go  now/'  said  the  one 
who  had  talked  most  freely,  "  but  we'll 
come  again  to-morrow,  and  you  can  tell 


us  more." 


"  I  will,"  promised  Philip. 

"  Come  on  with  us  to  our  school,  won't 
you  ?  We'll  show  you  our  teacher,  and 
you  can  hear  us  say  our  lessons.  Come !" 
and  the  speaker  emphasized  his  invita- 
tion by  pulling  Phil's  sleeve. 

"  Not  now,  boys,  not  now ;  some  other 
time  I  will;"  and  so  saying,  Phil  freed 
himself  from  the  child's  grasp  and  stood 


jil  gerrn. 


"We'd  like  to  hear  'em  over.' 


p.  160. 


A  MORNING  OUT  OF  DOORS.     161 

watching  while  the  four  nimble  bare  feet 
flew  down  the  road. 

"  How  much  good  this  girl  is  doing !" 
was  his  thought ;  and  then  he  wished  that 
his  neglected  brother  Sam  and  his  sisters 
Sallie  and  Lizzie  might  have  such  a  faith- 
ful teacher.  Presently  he  gathered  up 
his  book  and  papers  and  walked  along  in 
the  direction  the  boys  had  taken,  with  a 
view  to  seeing  something  of  the  town. 
There  was  not  anything  interesting  to  be 
seen.  Shunem  might  be  taken  for  a  twin 
of  two  or  three  other  towns  through 
which  he  had  passed.  As  he  was  about 
turning  with  the  intention  of  going  back 
to  the  house  to  rest,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
small  log  building  a  little  back  from  the 
road.  There  was  a  hum  of  children's 
voices,  and  by  this  Phil  knew  it  to  be 
the  school  to  which  his  little  friends  had 
hurried.  All  at  once  it  seemed  very 
still,  and  then  the  tones  of  a  single  voice 
reached  him  where  he  stood.  It  must  be 
Miss  Hallie's,  and  she  must  be  opening 

14*  L 


162  PHIL   DERRY. 

her  school-day  with  prayer.  Phil  drew 
near  the  door,  hardly  conscious  of  what 
he  did,  and  listened.  It  was  a  very  sim- 
ple prayer  indeed  that  the  young  girl 
offered ;  Phil  had  heard  better  ones,  as 
people  judge  degrees  of  goodness,  in  some 
of  the  Eagleville  meetings.  There  was 
something  strange  about  this  one,  some- 
thing that  woke  Phil's  heart  to  a  new 
idea  of  praying,  and  he  felt  like  saying 
"  Amen,  amen !"  all  the  way  through,  and 
what  was  it?  Only  that  Hallie  Hope 
was  one  of  God's  dear  children,  and  that 
being  so,  she  spoke  to  him  as  the  Father 
whom  she  wished  to  please  that  day,  who 
was  going  to  take  care  of  her  and  the 
children  and  make  them  happy.  There 
was  not  a  phrase  such  as  people  use  who 
only  know  how  to  pray  from  books  or 
who  have  learned  a  set  of  expressions  at 
prayer-meeting.  Hallie  asked  for  what 
she  wanted  and  believed  that  it  would 
be  given  her,  and  that  was  all  about  it. 
When  she  ended,  and  while  the  children 


A   MORNING   OUT  OP   DOORS.  163 

were  rising  from  their  knees,  Phil  slipped 
softly  away,  and  Hallie  Hope  began  her 
day  of  loving  work.  She  never  knew — 
that  is,  not  till  years  after — that  her 
morning  prayer  had  reached  other  ears 
than  those  of  her  little  scholars  and  of 
the  Father  in  heaven  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  She  did  not  know  that  on 
the  words  of  trust  her  lips  had  just 
uttered  another  soul  was  finding  its  way 
into  the  full  freedom  and  love  of  Christ's 
redeemed  ones. 

Phil,  still  weak  from  his  illness,  was 
tired  with  even  the  short  walk  he  had 
taken,  and  sat  down  to  rest  on  a  big  stone 
quite  near  the  house.  Mr.  Carpenter's 
voice  presently  hailed  him.  Mr.  Carpenter, 
as  I  may  as  well  state  here,  was  an  enter- 
prising young  farmer  who  already  owned 
acres  enough  to  afford  him  a  good  living, 
and  whose  ambition  it  was  to  be  a  rich 
man  by  the  time  his  hair  should  begin 
turning  gray. 

"  Halloo,  Phil !"  he  shouted,  and  then, 


164  PHIL  DERRY. 

coming  nearer,  said,  "  That's  all  of  your 
name  I've  heard  yet ;  what's  the  rest  ?" 

"  Philip  Derry  is  my  name,  sir,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  Well,  Jim  Carpenter  is  mine,  without 
either  Mr.  or  '  sir '  fastened  to  it ;  please 
remember  that  when  you  speak  to  me ;" 
and  the  young  man's  voice  was  full  of 
friendliness  and  good-humour  as  he  spoke. 
He  seated  himself  on  the  grass  beside  his 
guest,  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the  tracts 
which  Phil  held.  Phil  gave  them  to  him. 

"  Pshaw !  is  that  all  ?"  said  he,  glan- 
cing at  the  various  titles.  "  '  The  Swear- 
er's Prayer.'  Well,  I  never  swear. 
There's  one  for  drunkards.  I  don't 
drink  —  that  is,  not  enough  to  hurt. 
When  a  fellow  has  his  way  to  make  in 
the  world  and  a  family  to  support,  it's 
folly  to  get  drunk ;  that's  what  I  say. 
Humph  !"  he  continued ;  "  there's  noth- 
ing here  for  me." 

"Then  you  must  be  a  Christian  al- 
ready," said  Phil,  looking  full  in  his 


A  MORNING  OUT  OF  DOORS.     165 

companion's  face.  The  other  turned  his 
eye  away,  and  said  after  a  moment's 
pause, 

"  A  Christian  ?  No,  I  don't  claim  to 
be  any  better  than  the  general  run.  I've 
never  been  converted,  as  folks  call  it;  hope 
I  shall  be  one  of  these  days,  if  it's  only 
to  satisfy  mother.  My  hands  are  too  full 
just  now  to  spend  time  on  religion.  The 
fact  is  such  things  suit  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter in  the  East.  They  can  take  time  there 
for  prayer-meetings,  preaching,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it,  but  we  have  too  much  to 
do  here  in  the  West." 

Phil,  not  knowing  what  to  answer,  se- 
lected one  from  among  the  pile  of  tracts 
and  offered  it  silently  to  his  companion. 

Mr.  Carpenter  laughed  good-naturedly, 
and  thrust  the  paper  in  his  pocket  with- 
out even  looking  at  it. 

"  You'll  read  it,  won't  you  ?"  asked 
Phil. 

"  Don't  look  so  anxious,  boy,"  said  the 
other.  "  Yes,  I'll  read  it,  if  it  will  give 


166  PHIL   DERBY. 

you  any  satisfaction.  I  can't  wait  now, 
though ;  it's  time  I  was  at  my  work 
again." 

Phil  watched  the  active  form  till  it  had 
crossed  the  field  and  disappeared,  and 
then,  with  a  new  and  wondering  sense  of 
the  power  of  prayer,  he  covered  his  face 
with  both  hands  and  asked  God  to  be 
with  James  Carpenter  when  he  should 
read  that  tract,  and  cause  it  to  be  a  word 
in  season  to  his  soul.  The  tract  he  had 
selected  was  called  "  Why  longer  delay  ?" 
It  seemed  to  meet  the  state  of  the  young 
man,  who  was,  by  his  own  confession, 
putting  off  the  work  of  salvation  until 
he  had  gained  all  that  he  desired  of  this 
world's  goods.  This  was  Phil's  first  de- 
liberate act  in  the  service  of  Christ. 
Would  God  prosper  it? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOW  THEY  BEGAN  THE  WORK  AT 
SHUNEM. 

<? idjjjlHEN  at  noon  the  Carpenter  fam- 
ily met  around  a  well-filled  din- 
ner-table, all  were  anxious  to  hear 

<&*  the  result  of  the  missionary's  calls. 
Mr.  Williston  looked  tired,  but  there  was 
a  tranquil  light  in  the  deep  blue  eyes  that 
said  plainly  that  the  morning's  work  had 
not  been  a  disappointment. 

When  the  business  of  eating  was  fairly 
commenced,  the  elder  Mrs.  Carpenter  in- 
quired, 

"  Well,  sir,  what's  the  prospect  of  our 
having  a  Sunday-school  in  Shunem  ?" 

"  That  depends  in  some  measure  upon 
yourself,  ma'am,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  there 
are  a  few  of  God's  people  here  who  are 
willing  to  help,  but  the  prayers,  work, 

167 


168  PHIL   DERRY. 

and  money  of  every  Christian  here  are 
needed  for  the  work." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  good  old  lady. 
"I'll  do  what  I  can." 

"  And  you  ?"  said  the  missionary,  turn- 
ing to  his  young  host.  "  May  I  depend 
on  you  for  one  of  the  teachers  ?" 

Jim  Carpenter's  face  flushed,  and  he 
answered  a  little  crossly : 

"  No,  sir ;  a  man  can't  teach  what  he 
doesn't  know.  Such  work  is  quite  out 
of  my  line." 

"  We  must  have  a  meeting  to-night  to 
decide  on  what  is  to  be  done,  and  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  appointing  it  at  your 
house,  sir,  as  I  could  hear  of  no  other 
place  so  convenient.  Was  I  right  ?" 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  I  believe  our  front  room  is  the  biggest 
in  the  neighbourhood ;  anyways,  folks  al- 
ways meet  here  when  there's  anything  to 
be  talked  over.  You're  quite  welcome, 
I'm  sure,  to  the  use  of  my  house,  and 
anything  else  by  which  I  can  help  you 


HOW   THEY   BEGAN   THE   WORK.        169 

in  your  business;"  and  with  the  last  word 
the  speaker  caught  up  his  hat  and  left 
the  house. 

"  Yes,  welcome  to  everything  but  him- 
self, my  poor  Jim !"  was  the  mother's 
exclamation. 

"  I  don't  know  where  you'll  find  a  bet- 
ter than  Jim,  even  if  he  don't  profess  to 
be  pious,"  said  the  younger  Mrs.  Car- 
penter, with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  a 
bright  flush  coming  to  her  cheeks. 

"  Don't  be  vexed,  child,"  said  the 
mother,  mildly.  "  I  can  never  rest  until 
I  see  both  Jim  and  you  with  your  faces 
turned  Zionward." 

They  all  rose  from  the  table  without 
another  word,  for  Mr.  Williston  had  too 
much  wisdom  to  speak  for  his  Master  at 
a  moment  when  silence  would  avail  more 
than  speech. 

That  evening  quite  a  number  of  men 
and  women  came  together  in  Mr.  Carpen- 
ter's front  room  to  discuss  the  question 
of  a  Sunday-school.  Every  time  the 

15 


170  PHIL  DERBY. 

door  opened  all  eyes  were  turned  toward 
it,  as  if  expecting  some  one  in  particular. 
Mr.  Williston  stood  up  to  begin  the  meet- 
ing, but  a  man  behind  him  touched  his 
arm  and  said  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  Wait 
a  little,  if  you  please.  Miss  Hallie  Hope 
isn't  here  yet ;  we  can't  do  nothing  with- 
out her." 

The  missionary  smiled,  and  would 
have  taken  his  seat  again  but  that  at 
the  instant  the  young  girl  entered  in 
company  with  a  tall,  pale-faced  man 
whom  he  judged  at  once  to  be  her  in- 
valid father.  The  meeting  proved  a  very 
encouraging  one.  There  were  a  few  real 
Christians  in  that  small  gathering  whose 
earnestness  was  worth  far  more  to  the 
project  than  mere  numbers  could  have 
been. 

"  Yes,  we  must  have  a  Sunday-school," 
was  the  united  decision. 

"Then  we've  got  to  build  a  school- 
house,"  said  a  gruff  voice  from  one  corner. 

"  What  for?"  asked  a  sharp-nosed  wo- 


HOW  THEY  BEGAN  THE  WOEK.   171 

man  who  had  the  name  of  being  the 
stingiest  body  in  Shunem.  "  What  for? 
If  that  building  Mr.  Hope  had  patched 
up  for  his  daughter  will  do  for  the  chil- 
dren all  the  rest  of  the  week,  why  won't 
it  do  for  Sundays  ?" 

"  It  leaks  like  a  sieve,"  said  one. 

"  It  ain't  half  big  enough,"  said  an- 
other. "  We  calculate  to  have  more  chil- 
dren than  that  handful  that  Hallie 
teaches — some  o'  the  grown  folks  too 
mebbe;  and  we  ain't  figs,  to  be  packed  in 
in  a  box." 

"The  seats  too,"  chimed  in  another 
voice ;  "  they're  too  rickety." 

"  Too  narrow,"  was  the  next  comment. 
"  Think  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bunner  sitting 
on  them  'ere  benches." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  for  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bunner  were  an  enormously  fat 
couple  about  whom  all  Shunem  felt 
privileged  to  joke.  The  question  was 
put  to  vote,  and  the  decision  was  to  build 
a  school-house  at  once,  to  be  held  as  com- 


172  PHIL  DERBY. 

mon  property  for  meetings  of  various 
sorts,  and  to  be  used  by  Miss  Hallie 
Hope  and  her  scholars  upon  the  week- 
days. 

But  how  was  it  to  be  done  ?  Something 
more  than  a  vote  was  needed. 

Jacob  Johnson  the  carpenter  rose,  and 
offered  the  work  of  himself  and  his  two 
sons  as  his  share  of  the  enterprise.  His 
example  stirred  up  others,  as  good  ex- 
amples always  do.  Auntie  Clark,  an  old 
woman  who  had  a  little  store  where  she 
sold  thread,  pins,  candies,  and  one  hardly 
knows  what,  promised  her  entire  profits 
for  the  coming  week  toward  the  good 
work.  A  farmer  present  agreed  to  give 
a  tenth  of  his  wheat  crop.  A  dashing 
young  woman  sitting  near  Mr.  Williston 
surprised  him  by  taking  a  showy  pair  of 
ear-rings  off  and  placing  them  in  his 
hand,  and  a  big  boy  came  up  behind  him 
and  shyly  whispered  that  "he'd  been 
saving  up  for  a  new  pair  of  boots  against 
cold  weather,  but  guessed  the  old  ones 


HOW  THEY  BEGAN  THE  WORK.   173 

would  do  a  while  longer,  so  there  was  the 
money  toward  the  Sunday-school." 

The  missionary's  eyes  moistened  as 
these  and  other  sacrifices,  so  small  to 
hear  of,  so  great  to  those  who  made  them, 
opened  the  way  toward  the  building  of  a 
house  for  the  holy  use  proposed.  When 
every  one  else  had  spoken,  Mr.  Hope  rose 
and  pledged  himself  to  meet  all  expenses 
that  should  remain  after  the  others  had 
fulfilled  their  promises.  Some  hearty 
cheering  followed  his  speech,  for  every 
one  knew  that  his  heart  and  purse  were 
alike  to  be  relied  upon. 

"  Bress  de  good  Lord  For  dis  day !"  ex- 
claimed a  voice  among  the  crowd. 

"  Oh,  there's  Uncle  Julius !"  said  sev- 
eral at  once.  "  Uncle  Julius  will  help  us 
along." 

It  was  an  old  coloured  man  who  had 
spoken.  His  gray  hair  and  wrinkled 
face  showed  him  to  be  a  patriarch  in  that 
Western  settlement,  made  up,  as  such 
places  usually  are,  of  young  and  robust 


15* 


174  PHIL   DERRY. 

men  who  are  able  to  brave  any  hardship 
in  the  pursuit  of  wealth. 

Every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the 
place  liked  Uncle  Julius;  and  now  that 
he  had  grown  too  infirm  for  any  but  the 
lightest  work,  no  housewife's  loaf  was  too 
small  to  spare  him  a  slice,  no  fellow- 
townsman's  wardrobe  too  scanty  to  spare 
him  a  warm  shirt  or  pair  of  socks  when 
he  was  in  need.  Nobody  thought  of  him 
as  a  beggar ;  he  was  Shunem's  "  Uncle 
Julius." 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  my  friend,  in 
this  good  cause,"  inquired  the  missionary. 

"  I'll  give  de  best  I's  got,  massa,  and 
dat's  my  prayers,"  said  the  old  man,  fer- 
vently. "  I'll  teach  some  of  de  leastest 
chil'n  on  Sundays  if  de  folks'll  trus'  me. 
I  can't  manage  all  de  hard  words  in  de 
Bible,  but,  massa,  I  knows  a  lot  about  de 
lub  o'  Christ  Jesus,  and  dat's  what  I'll 
teach  de  little  chil'n." 

"Ah,  Uncle  Julius!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Williston,  "  none  of  us  can  do  more  than 


HOW  THEY  BEGAN  THE  WORK.    175 

that.  To  teach  the  children  about  the 
love  of  Jesus  is  exactly  what  Sunday- 
schools  are  meant  for." 

The  example  of  Uncle  Julius  was  fol- 
lowed by  others.  Hallie  Hope  would 
teach  a  class,  of  course ;  old  Mrs.  Car- 
penter promised  to  do  the  best  she  could  ; 
Mr.  Hope  would  come  as  often  as  his 
cough  would  let  him  ;  and  two  or  three 
plain  working-men,  who  would  not  have 
thought  of  teaching  but  for  the  readiness 
of  the  ignorant  old  coloured  man  by 
whom  they  did  not  wish  to  be  outdone, 
promised  their  help. 

God's  blessing  was  upon  the  Shunem 
Sunday-school  at  the  outset.  Few  and 
poor  and  unlearned  the  human  instru- 
ments might  be ;  what  of  that  ?  "  Not  by 
might  nor  by  power,  but  by  my  Spirit, 
saith  the  Lord  of  hosts,"  is  a  prophecy 
of  success  as  true  and  faithful  of  every 
good  work  in  our  day  as  when  Zechariah 
was  inspired  to  write  it  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  years  ago. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A  EIDE,  AND   WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

EFOKE  it  was  light  next  morning 
Phil  was  roused  from  sleep  by  a 
loud  whistle   in  the  yard  below. 
He  sprang   from  the  bed,  threw 
open  the  window,  and  looked  out. 

"  Hallo,  there !"  cried  a  voice  that  he 
knew  at  once  as  Mr.  Carpenter's.  "  I'm 
just  starting  off  to  Thomastown  on  some 
business.  It's  a  kind  o'  lonesome  ride, 
and  I  thought  maybe  you'd  come  along 
to  keep  a  fellow  company.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  How  far  is  it?"  asked  Phil. 
"  About  twenty  miles  or  so.    The  road's 
rather  rough,  but  the  day  will  be  fine 
and  old  Charley  will  take  us  there  at  a 
pretty  fair  pace.     What  d'ye  say  ?" 
"  I'll  see.     Wait  a  minute." 

176 


A   RIDE,  AND   WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.      177 

Phil  put  his  head  back  to  ask  Mr. 
Williston  if  there  was  anything  to  be 
done  that  day  in  which  his  help  was 
needed.  He  was  bound,  and  felt  him- 
self so,  to  be  the  missionary's  assistant  as 
faithfully  as  he  had  been  that  of  the 
photographer. 

"  No,  I  do  not  especially  need  you 
here,"  was  the  answer.  "Go,  and  the 
Lord  grant  it  may  be  the  old  story  of 
Philip  and  the  eunuch  over  again." 

The  boy  hastily  put  on  his  clothes  and 
ran  down  stairs.  Mrs.  Carpenter  was 
waiting  to  pour  out  a  cup  of  hot  coffee 
for  him,  for  she  would  not  consent  that 
either  he  or  her  husband  should  start 
off  without  their  usual  hearty  morning 
meal.  She  next  put  up  a  basket  of  lunch 
for  them,  insisting  they  should  take  it, 
for  the  ride  would  be  tiresome  and  they 
would  not  get  back  until  late  in  the  day. 

By  the  time  other  people  in  Shunem 
were  beginning  to  rise  from  the  night's 
rest  these  two  were  fairly  on  their  way. 

M 


178  PHIL   DERBY. 

Before  they  passed  the  outskirts  of  the 
village  they  saw  coming  toward  them  the 
figure  of  a  young  girl  whose  features 
were  hidden  by  a  deep  sun-bonnet. 
When  they  drove  quite  near  her,  Jim 
Carpenter  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  if  it  isn't  Hallie  Hope !  Why , 
Hallie,  what  brings  you  out  so  early  as 
this?" 

Jim  checked  his  horse,  and  Hallie  ex- 
plained that  poor  little  Sadie  Mill  was 
having  one  of  her  bad  turns,  and  that 
she  had  been  called  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  to  go  and  assist  Mrs.  Mill  in 
the  care  of  the  child. 

"Oh,  Hallie,"  exclaimed  Jim,  with 
something  like  a  sigh,  although  a  smile 
was  on  his  face,  "  you're  always  doing 
good  to  somebody.  I  wish  the  rest  of 
us  could  be  like  you." 

"  You  can ;  you  can  do,  oh  so  much 
more  good  than  I,  Mr.  Carpenter,  because 
you  are  a  man.  If — "  and  Hallie  paused, 
hesitating. 


A    RIDE,  AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.     179 

"If?     Goon;  if  what?" 

"  If  you  will  be  a  Christian." 

The  bright  flush  that  overspread  the 
girl's  face  as  she  spoke  these  words  could 
be  seen  plainly  in  spite  of  the  deep  sun- 
bonnet.  It  was  reflected  on  the  farmer's 
countenance,  but  he  made  no  direct  reply. 

"  Good-morning  to  you  both,"  said 
Hallie,  returning  to  her  usual  cheerful 
tone.  u  I  must  hurry  and  be  home  before 
papa  misses  me ;"  and  smiling,  she  passed 
on  her  way. 

The  flush  on  Jim  Carpenter's  face  lin- 
gered there  for  some  time.  He  gave  his 
entire  attention  to  driving,  and  said  not  a 
word  to  his  companion  while  they  trav- 
elled three  or  four  miles  of  the  way. 
Phil  was  wisely  silent  also,  thinking  that 
Jim  had  taken  offence  at  Hallie's  plain 
speech. 

"Ah!"  said  he  to  himself,  "I  shall 
never  dare  speak  to  him  about  religion 
again." 

By  and  by  the  silence  was  broken  by 


180  PHIL   DERRY. 

some  casual  remark  about  the  state  of 
the  roads,  and  from  that  the  two  got  to 
talking  about  the  crops  and  other  things. 
It  was  not  until  Thomastown  had  been 
reached,  the  business  transacted,  the 
lunch  eaten,  and  old  Charlie's  head 
turned  toward  Shunem  that  the  one 
subject  uppermost  in  Phil's  thoughts  was 
referred  to.  Mr.  Carpenter,  after  what 
seemed  a  long  fit  of  silence,  fumbled  in 
his  pocket  and  drew  out  the  tract  which 
his  companion  had  given  him.  This  he 
unfolded  and  spread  upon  his  knee. 

"  Phil,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  more  earn- 
est than  was  customary  with  the  light- 
hearted  young  man,  "do  you  really  be- 
lieve all  it  says  here  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  was  the  reply,  given 
in  sincere  tones. 

"  There  must  be  something  in  it,  after 
all,"  mused  the  questioner,  speaking  to 
himself  rather  than  his  companion.  Phil, 
however,  answered  quickly : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Carpenter,  there's  just  every- 


A   HIDE,  AND   WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.     181 

thing  in  it — that  is,  if  it's  religion  you 
are  talking  about." 

"  Well,  it  beats  me.  Now  there's  my 
mother ;  it's  natural  a  woman  of  her  age 
should  take  to  reading  the  Bible  and 
praying ;  there's  nothing  else  to  take  up 
her  thoughts.  There's  Williston,  too; 
it's  his  business  to  be  religious ;  he  makes 
his  living  by  it  just  as  I  do  by  farming." 

"  Oh  no,  no !"  interrupted  Phil.  "  You 
don't  know  Mr.  Williston ;  he  is  a  mis- 
sionary because  he  knows  that  God  has 
called  him  to  be  one.  A  man  like  him 
could  make  a  good  deal  more  money 
some  other  way,  if  that  was  all.  You 
know  that,  Mr.  Carpenter,  as  well  as  I." 

"  Well,  well,  no  offence  meant,  and 
don't  you  say  '  Mr.'  Carpenter  again.  I 
feel  as  if  I  must  put  on  my  best  behav- 
iour when  anybody  tacks  on  the  'Mr.' 
I've  got  nothing  to  say  against  the  mis- 
sionary ;  he's  a  good  man.  What  I  mean 
is  that  for  folks  like  him  and  mother 
religion's  all  natural  enough ;  but  when 

16 


182  PHIL   DERBY. 

it  comes  to  yon,  Phil,  and  Hallie  Hope, 
I  must  say  it  beats  me." 

As  if  that  was  the  conclusion  of  the 
matter,  the  speaker  whipped  up  old  Char- 
lie and  lapsed  into  silence.  Phil  sat  in 
perplexed  thought  by  his  side.  How  he 
longed  to  make  his  companion  see  what 
he  had  so  lately  learned,  that  the  service 
of  God  was  the  one  thing  in  all  the  world 
to  be  desired  to  make  one  happy,  whether 
old  or  young ! 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  make  him  be- 
lieve?" he  asked  of  God  in  that  silent 
moment ;  and  God  answered  him  by  the 
next  words  that  fell  from  Jim  Carpen- 
ter's lips : 

"  Tell  me,  Phil— that  is,  if  you  don't 
mind — how  it  was  you  came  to  be  pious, 
and  how  it  happens  that  a  fellow  like 
you  is  going  about  to  get  up  Sunday- 
schools  and  convert  people." 

It  was  the  first  time  any  one  had 
asked  Phil  about  his  past  life.  His  first 
thought  was  that  he  could  not  and  would 


A  RIDE,   AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.      183 

not  go  over  the  story  of  his  own  disgrace, 
but  the  second  thought,  that  it  might  be 
a  help  to  another  soul,  enabled  him  to 
put  aside  the  feeling  of  shame ;  and  be- 
fore they  reached  Shunem,  Mr.  Carpen- 
ter was  acquainted  witli  all  Phil's  his- 
tory, from  the  time  of  his  wild,  reckless 
doings  in  Eagleville,  that  now  seemed 
years  ago,  to  the  present.  Phil  dwelt 
feelingly  on  the  description  of  the  Eagle- 
ville school,  the  teachings  of  kind  Miss 
Millett,  but  passed  over  as  briefly  as  he 
could  the  shameful  history  of  his  appren- 
ticeship to  Mr.  Brown.  Then,  as  he  told 
in  self-humiliation  the  story  of  his  ill- 
ness at  Clegg  Hole,  he  quite  forgot  his 
own  disgrace  in  his  earnest  praise  of  Mr. 
Williston  and  his  thankfulness  to  God 
for  saving  him,  body  and  soul,  by  his 
means. 

"  Well,  I  never  I"  was  Mr.  Carpenter's 
astonished  comment  at  the  conclusion. 
"To  think  of  your  going  through  all 
that  and  turning  out  what  you  are !" 


184  PHIL   DERBY. 

"  You  can't  help  having  a  poor  opin- 
ion of  me  after  this,"  said  poor  Phil, 
very  humbly,  "  but  I  ought  not  to  be 
sorry  for  having  told  you  the  truth." 

For  answer  the  young  farmer  took  the 
boy's  hand  and  shook  it  most  heartily. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  persistently, 
"  that  any  sermon  ever  was  preached 
could  do  me  the  good  that  this  story 
of  yours  has?  The  fact  is  I've  been 
a  pretty  wild  chap  in  my  day.  I've 
sobered  down  a  good  bit  since  I  got 
married ;  still,  it  never  seemed  as  if  I 
was  the  sort  to  make  a  Christian  of.  I've 
thought  more  than  once,  though,  and 
especially  since  I  read  your  tract,  Phil, 
that,  God  helping  me,  I  would  turn  over 
a  new  leaf." 

"He  will  help  you,  Mr.  Carpenter — 
Jim,  I  mean.  Think  how  he's  helped 
me!  I  hope  to  do  some  good  in  the 
world  yet  in  spite  of  all  the  bad  begin- 
nings." 

"Do   you  believe  in  prayer?"  asked 


A  RIDE,   AND    WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.      185 

Jim,  with  a  very  grave  expression  on  his 
usually  lively  features. 

"  I  do,  indeed ;  what  a  strange  ques- 
tion !" 

Mr.  Carpenter  quietly  led  Charlie  un- 
der the  shade  of  a  large  tree  and  stopped. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  let  us  get  out  here, 
and  do  you  kneel  down  and  pray  that  God 
will  change  my  heart;  I  think  that  is 
what  you  call  it.  Anyway,  you  know 
what  I  mean.  I  want  to  be  a  better  man, 
Phil,  and  I  want  the  Lord's  help." 

Phil  was  surprised  and  flurried,  but  he 
did  as  he  was  asked,  and  a  sudden  thrill 
of  grateful  joy  came  over  him  that  his 
own  prayer  had  been  so  soon  answered. 

When  they  were  again  in  the  wagon 
and  almost  in  sight  of  home,  Jim  said, 

"  D'ye  suppose  Mr.  Williston  would 
lead  us  in  family  prayers  after  this  ?" 

"  He  would  have  been  glad  to  do  it 
from  the  first  if  you'd  asked  him.  I 
know  he  would." 

"  Well,  I  did  not  want  it  before.     Phil, 

16* 


186  PHIL,   DERBY. 

I'm  one  that  don't  believe  in  doing  things 
halfway.  I've  resolved  to  be  a  Christian 
man  by  God's  help,  and  I  want  to  act 
like  a  Christian  man.  It's  right  to  pray 
with  my  family,  and  so  I  mean  to  do 
It  will  make  it  easier,  though,  if  Mr. 
Williston  will  take  it  in  hand  so  long  as 
you  stay  with  us." 

At  the  social  meal  that  the  travellers 
found  ready  for  them,  a  sort  of  dinner 
and  tea  combined,  a  great  surprise  was 
given  the  little  family  circle  by  these 
words  from  the  master  of  the  house  : 

"  Wife,  mother,  friends,  I  am  going  to 
turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  you  all  must 
help  me  to  keep  it  turned.  I  am  deter- 
mined, by  God's  goodness,  to  lead  a  new 
life ;  I  mean  to  be  a  Christian.  Phil 
Derry  here  can  answer  for  the  truth  of 
what  I  say.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him, 
I—" 

But  Jim  had  no  time  to  finish  the  sen- 
tence. Mr.  Williston  had  risen  from  the 
table  and  was  shaking  hands  with  him 


A   RIDE,   AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.        187 

to  express  the  congratulations  he  had  not 
yet  found  voice  for.  Old  Mrs.  Carpen- 
ter was  beside  him,  her  trembling  hands 
clasped  in  his,  while  happy  tears  flowed 
down  her  cheeks.  The  young  wife  stood 
gazing  at  her  husband  with  more  per- 
plexity than  gladness,  and  said  not  a 
word.  It  was  a  scene  over  which  friends, 
and  angels  too,  rejoiced — one  never  to  be 
forgotten  in  that  little  household. 

"  This  my  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive 
again ;  he  was  lost,  and  is  found,"  said 
the  mother,  in  faltering  tones;  and  then 
for  the  first  time  the  family  knelt  to- 
gether, while  the  missionary  thanked 
God  on  their  behalf  for  the  great  bless- 
ing he  had  bestowed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
EAGLEVILLE  AGAIN. 

FEW  days  after  the  important  ride 
to  Thomastown,  our  friends  said  fare- 
well to  Shunem,  to  continue  their 
&)-  blessed  work  elsewhere.  "Their 
work,"  I  say,  because  Philip  Derry  had 
begun  to  feel  that  he  had  a  share  in  Mr. 
Williston's  labours,  and  to  regard  it  as 
his  personal  duty  and  privilege  to  watch 
for  opportunities  of  teaching  God's  truth 
to  ignorant,  wandering  souls. 

The  Carpenter  family  were  unwilling 
to  part  with  them.  No  wonder;  their 
short  visit  had  been  God's  means  of 
bringing  new  light  into  their  dwelling — 
a  light  that  should  never  go  out.  Jim. 
Carpenter  was  a  man  of  his  word ;  and 
having  once  fairly  resolved  "  to  turn  over 
a  new  leaf"  in  his  book  of  life,  there  was 

188 


EAGLEVIL.LE   AGAIN.  189 

no  looking  backward.  The  Sunday- 
school  gained  an  earnest  worker  in  him, 
the  whole  town  a  strong  influence  for 
good.  Years  afterward,  when  Shunem 
had  grown  into  one  of  the  most  thriving 
of  Western  towns,  with  a  substantial 
church  and  well-built  school-house,  the 
name  of  James  Carpenter  was  always  spo- 
ken with  gratitude,  as  chief  among  those 
to  whom  credit  was  due  for  these  benefits. 

Hallie  Hope,  dear  young  Christian 
that  she  was,  kept  faithfully  at  her  work 
among  the  children.  Her  father  died  a 
few  months  after  Mr.  Williston's  visit  to 
Shunem,  but  the  family,  attached  to  their 
Western  home  for  his  sake,  remained 
there  permanently. 

Our  two  travellers  went  on  their  way, 
visiting  every  town  and  village  where 
there  was  a  prospect  of  starting  a  school. 
Their  visits  were  not  all  such  pleasant 
ones  as  that  at  Shunem.  Now  and  then 
they  met  with  scorn  and  abuse,  very  often 
with  perfect  indifference;  again,  they  would 


190  PHIL   DERRY. 

fall  in  with  a  few  Christian  people  will- 
ing to  do  all  in  their  power  to  aid  in  the 
good  cause.  As  for  Phil,  his  whole  heart 
became  absorbed  in  the  desire  to  win  souls 
to  Christ.  Mr.  Williston  had  no  cause 
to  regret  the  step  he  had  undertaken  in 
such  faith  and  love — the  risk  he  had  run, 
one  might  say,  had  it  been  anything  but 
a  direct  work  for  his  Master,  in  taking 
charge  of  the  unfortunate  lad  sunk  in 
shame  and  misery  at  Clegg  Hole.  The 
events  of  that  summer  and  fall  had  a 
lasting  influence  on  Phil ;  and  when  at 
last  he  and  his  good  friend  parted  com- 
pany a  few  miles  beyond  Eagleville,  his 
resolution  was  formed,  that,  following  in 
Mr.  Williston's  footsteps,  he  would  make 
the  establishment  of  Sunday-schools  in 
that  far  Western  country  the  work  of  his 
life.  He  was  but  a  boy  yet;  he  must 
needs  wait  until  he  came  of  age  before 
daring  to  go  forth  by  himself  in  such  an 
undertaking.  The  first  duty  before  him 
was,  he  felt,  to  set  to  work  and  earn  money 


EAGLEVILLE   AGAIN.  191 

to  pay  the  shameful  debt  to  his  father 
which  beyond  doubt  Nathan  Brown  had 
long  ago  collected. 

All  this  time  matters  had  not  been  at 
a  standstill  in  Eagleville.  New  houses 
had  been  put  up,  new  business  enterprises 
undertaken.  A  few  months  in  a  growing 
Western  settlement  often  bring  about 
great  changes.  Captain  Marks  had  im- 
proved his  hotel  and  was  doing  more 
business  in  his  store  than  he  had  dared 
expect  when  he  had  resolved,  for  con- 
science's sake,  to  give  up  selling  liquor. 
The  text  on  which  he  had  leaned  with 
hope  in  that  trying  time  had  proved  a 
true  prophecy  in  the  worthy  man's  ex- 
perience :  "  The  blessing  of  the  Lord  it 
maketh  rich,  and  he  addeth  no  sorrow 
with  it."  He  could  now  stand  in  his 
doorway  and  look  at  the  opposite  build- 
ing, where  drinking  and  smoking  were 
carried  on  at  a  fearful  rate ;  he  could 
think  of  the  money  being  made  by  his 
rivals  in  their  ungodly  traffic — money 


192  PHIL   DERBY. 

that  might  have  been  swej)t  into  his  own 
till — without  one  regret.  Prosperity  and 
a  clear  conscience  were  his  portion  even 
in  this  world,  and  added  to  these  were 
treasures  laid  up  in  heaven. 

The  Sunday-school  had  by  this  time 
become  a  firmly-established  fact  in  the 
town,  and,  people  who  cared  nothing 
about  religious  teaching  for  their  chil- 
dren sent  them  regularly  because  it  was 
the  custom  and  considered  quite  the 
proper  thing  to  do.  Mrs.  Mercy  Striker 
took  great  credit  to  herself  for  this  change 
of  public  opinion,  and  was  often  heard  to 
remark  that  "  the  whole  thing  would  have 
fallen  through  and  been  nowheres  if  she 
hadn't  been  there  to  back  up  the  captain. 
It  only  needed  an  energetic  woman  to  set 
a  thing  like  that  going."  People  smiled 
at  Mrs.  Striker's  self-approval,  but  no  one 
denied  that  she  had  been  a  wise  and  faith- 
ful worker  in  the  cause. 

The  weekly  meetings  for  prayer  and 
study  had  been  greatly  blest.  Many 


EAGLEVILLE   AGAIN.  193 

attended  them  who  had  never  thought 
of  studying  their  Bibles  before,  and  sev- 
eral, chiefly  women,  had  by  these  means 
been  brought  to  hope  in  Christ  as  their 
Saviour  and  to  turn  to  newness  of  life. 
Yes,  Eagleville  had  changed — not  only 
in  houses  and  wealth  and  outward  signs 
of  improvement,  but  in  things  of  far 
more  importance. 

There  was,  alas !  one  dwelling  in  the 
town  where  no  improvement  of  any  kind 
had  come,  and  this  was  Phil  Derry's 
home.  Hardly  stopping  to  notice  the 
cheery  look  of  things  in  the  business 
part  of  Eagleville,  the  lad  on  his  return 
hastened  toward  his  father's  house.  There 
it  stood,  just  as  on  the  morning  when  the 
missionary  had  made  his  uncomfortable 
call  on  its  mistress.  The  pigs,  the  mud, 
the  broken  doorstep,  the  dirty  children, 
were  there  all  the  same,  and  inside  was 
the  potato  pile  and  the  dingy  woman  sit- 
ting idle  in  the  cheerless  room.  Yet  a 
change  had  come  here  too — so  sad  a  change 

17  N 


194  PHIL   DERRY. 

that,  as  people  said,  things  were  going 
from  bad  to  worse  as  fast  as  they  could ; 
and  pretty  soon  it  was  hinted  the  whole 
Derry  family  would  be  cast  on  the  char- 
ity of  the  town. 

A  crowd  of  old  friends  were  at  hand 
to  welcome  Phil  the  morning  that  he 
stepped  off  the  train  at  the  Eagleville 
station.  At  once  the  lad  noticed  a  cloud 
behind  the  smile  of  welcome  on  one  face 
and  another,  a  suggestion  of  trouble  even 
in  the  words  with  which  his  old  friends 
greeted  him.  It  puzzled  him. 

"  Back  again,  eh,  like  a  bad  penny  ?" 
said  Jerry  Jones ;  "  but  a  bad  penny  in 
the  purse  is  maybe  better  than  none  at 
all,  eh?" 

The  nod  of  the  head  toward  Phil's 
home  as  Jerrv  said  the  words  seemed  to 

*/ 

mean  something. 

"Welcome  home  to  ye,  Philip,"  said 
old  Jim  Gardiner.  "  You  haven't  come 
a  minute  too  soon ;  and  I  hope  that  mother 


EAGLEVILLE   AGAIN.  195 

o'  yourn  '11  have  the  sense  now  to  treat 
you  as  she'd  ought  to/' 

Captain  Marks  stood  on  the  platform, 
and  as  Phil  approached  held  out  his 
hand,  but  turned  away  his  head,  and  final- 
ly said  in  a  husky  voice, 

"  You'll  want  a  friend,  poor  fellow ! 
When  you  do,  Marks's  good  word  and 
Marks's  pocket-book  are  always  at  your 
service." 

Phil  said,  "  Thank  you,  sir,"  and 
passed  on.  What  did  people  mean  ?  He 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  ask  the 
question  outright.  It  seemed  as  if  some- 
thing sad  had  happened  and  everybody 
took  it  for  granted  that  he  already  knew. 
Had  his  father  met  with  losses  in  busi- 
ness ?  Had  his  mother  run  away,  from 
home  in  one  of  her  angry  fits?  Were 
some  of  the  children  sick?  The  boy 
walked  on  more  briskly  as  one  possibility 
after  another  thus  presented  itself  to  him. 
As  he  drew  near  the  house  his  two  little 
sisters  saw  and  recognized  him  and  ran 


196  PHIL   DFRRY. 

into  the  house  screaming,  "  Oh,  ma,  Phil's 
come  back  !  Phil's  come  back  !" 

A  moment  more,  and  Phil  entered  the 
dull  room.  Mrs.  Derry  moved  her  chair 
as  the  door  opened,  and  looked  up  with 
the  same  old,  irritable  expression. 

"  You've  come,  have  you  ?"  she  said. 
"  Well,  one  would  think  it  was  about 
time.  But  it's  none  of  your  business,  I 
suppose,  even  if  your  mother  and  sisters 
and  brother  do  starve.  You  always  knew 
how  to  look  out  for  number  one.  You've 
come  back  to  see  how  much  of  the  prop- 
erty'll  fall  into  your  hands,  most  likely," 
continued  the  scornful  woman ;  "  more 
gambling  debts  to  pay,  perhaps.  But 
you'll  find  yourself  mistaken.  Every- 
thing had  to  be  sold ;  even  the  roof  over 
our  heads  does  not  belong  to  us.  Oh 
dear !  oh  dear !  I  wish  we  were  all 
dead !  There's  no  end  to  my  trouble." 

Phil's  face  grew  very  pale;  he  stag- 
gered and  sank  upon  a  broken  chair  near 
the  door. 


EAGLEVILLE   AGAIN.  197 

"  Mother,"  he  cried  out.  "  do  tell  me 
at  once  what  dreadful  thing  has  hap- 
pened. Is  my  father  dead  ?" 

Mrs.  Derry  turned  her  chair  round 
and  looked  at  her  son's  emotion  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Your  father  dead !"  she  echoed. 
"  Why,  of  course ;  he's  been  dead  nigh 
a  month  now.  You're  just  putting  on 
airs  now.  That's  what  brought  you  home, 
ain't  it?  If  not,  what  in  the  world  did 
you  come  for  ?" 

Phil  had  to  put  aside  his  own  feelings 
of  anxiety  and  distress  and  give  a  com- 
plete account  of  his  own  experience  be- 
fore his  mother  would  relieve  his  mind 
by  explaining  to  him  the  blow  which  had 
so  recently  fallen  upon  the  family. 

Jake  Derry  had,  as  has  been  already 
hinted,  accumulated  a  competent  fortune 
during  his  stay  in  Eagleville.  If  his 
family  had  lived  in  discomfort  all  these 
years,  it  had  not  been  for  want  of  means. 
The  children  had  worn  ragged  clothing 

17* 


198  PHIL   DERBY. 

and  eaten  poor  food  for  the  same  reason 
that  their  faces  were  dirty  and  their  hair 
uncombed — namely,  that  their  mother  was 
too  lazy  and  indifferent  to  order  it  other- 
wise. About  the  time  of  Phil's  departure 
with  Nathan  Brown,  Mr.  Deny  had  in- 
vested his  whole  property  in  a  mining 
venture.  This  turned  out  unsuccessful, 
and  he  had  the  misery  of  finding  him- 
self, after  years  of  toil,  a  ruined  man.  The 
blow  proved  too  heavy  to  be  borne  by  one 
whose  sole  ambition  was  to  secure  wealth 
and  gain  the  reputation  of  being  a  mon- 
eyed man.  Some  disease,  trifling  in  itself, 
had  attacked  him,  and  being  aggravated 
by  this  mental  distress  had  resulted  in 
brain  fever,  and  that  in  death. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Derry,  in  con- 
clusion, "here  we  are.  What's  to  be- 
come of  me  and  the  children  nobody 
knows." 

There  was  as  much  anger  as  sorrow  in 
the  sobs  which  accompanied  these  words, 
and  the  two  or  three  tears  wiped  on  the 


EAGLEVILLE  AGAIN.  199 

corner  of  a  ragged  apron  did  not  seem  to 
bear  any  of  the  softness  of  grief. 

"  God  does  not  forget  the  widow  and 
the  fatherless,  mother,"  whispered  Phil, 
so  engrossed,  poor  fellow !  with  his  own 
sad  thoughts  that  he  must  for  the  mo- 
ment have  forgotten  how  little  such  a 
reminder  was  likely  to  comfort  one  like 
Mrs.  Derry. 

"  Be  done  with  your  cant,  Phil,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  Bible  verses  sound  very 
pretty  when  you've  got  nothing  else  to 
think  about,  but  just  now  some  victuals 
to  eat  and  clothes  for  the  children  would 
be  enough  sight  more  useful  than  all  the 
Scripture  you  can  remember." 

There  was  a  moment's  uncomfortable 
pause,  and  then  the  sharp  voice  continued: 

"  If  that's  all  you've  come  home  for, 
Phil,  just  to  see  how  bad  off  we  are  and 
give  us  some  of  your  pious  talk,  why  the 
sooner  you  take  yourself  off  again,  the 
better.  You're  old  enough  to  earn  a  liv- 
ing for  yourself.  If  you  think  to  lounge 


200  PHIL   DERBY. 

about  here  and  live  on  what  I  can  pick 
up,  you're  very  much  mistaken,  that's 
all." 

Mrs.  Derry  turned  her  back  on  her 
eldest  son  and  set  her  lips  firmly  together, 
as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  on  that 
subject  and  meant  to  abide  by  it. 

Phil  rose  slowly  from  his  seat,  gave  a 
long  look  at  his  mother,  as  if  in  hopes 
she  would  turn  toward  him  with  one 
kind  word  at  least,  then  opened  the  door — 
that  door  through  which  he  had  passed 
heavy-hearted  so  many  times  before — and 
went  out.  Sam  was  swinging  on  the 
gate.  He  turned  toward  his  brother  with 
a  broad  grin  that  meant  welcome,  and 
gave  a  shrill  whistle  which  brought  Liz- 
zie and  Sallie  to  the  spot  in  a  moment. 
The  children,  at  any  rate,  were  glad  to 
see  Phil.  They  crowded  around  him, 
examined  his  clothes,  felt  in  his  pockets 
for  a  possible  present,  asked  any  number 
of  questions  without  pausing  for  answers, 
and  unconsciously  gave  the  long-absent 


EAGLEVILLE   AGAIN.  201 

boy  a  great  deal  of  comfort.  These 
rough,  ragged  children  loved  him,  were 
glad  to  see  him. 

"  You've  come  back  to  stay  ?"  ques- 
tioned Sallie. 

"  Why,  of  course  he  has,"  interrupted 
the  other  sister.  "  He's  all  the  dad  we've 
got  now." 

"  You'll  tell  us  more  o'  them  nice 
Bible  stories  like  you  used  to,  won't  you, 
Phil?"  asked  Sallie,  putting  her  arm 
around  Phil's  neck  coaxingly. 

"  Do  you  remember  all  those  I  used  to 
tell  you  ?" 

"  Better  believe !"  answered  the  child, 
with  a  wise  shake  of  her  head. 

"  How  about  Sunday-school  now?" 
was  Phil's  next  question.  "  Does  ma  let 
you  go?" 

Sam  answered  by  a  short,  expressive 
whistle,  and  the  little  girls  answered 
under  breath : 

"  Oh,  Phil,  we  daresn't  say  '  Sunday- 
school'  before  ma  since  you  went  away." 


202  PHIL   DERRY. 

Phil  was  more  sorry  than  surprised. 
"  How  about  day-school,  then  ?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Don't  go  there,  nuther,"  said  Sam  ; 
"  don't  do  nuthin'  now  but  loaf  'round." 

Phil  sighed  and  loosed  the  grasp  of 
the  several  dirty  little  hands,  saying  that 
he  must  go  to  the  village. 

"  You're  coming  back  to  stay  ?"  shouted 
the  voices  of  all  three  after  him. 

"  We'll  see,  we'll  see !"  he  called  back, 
cheerily,  and  was  quickly  out  of  sight 
of  the  eager  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

BRIGHTENING  THE  FIRE  AND  DARKENING 
A  LIFE. 

\  E  will  not  follow  Phil  as  he  walked 
thoughtfully  to  the  village  that 
sorrowful  morning.  We  will  not 
attempt  to  go  with  him  step  by 
step  as  heretofore  through  the  successive 
events  of  his  life.  There  come  in  his- 
tory as  often  there  comes  in  the  scenery 
through  which  we  travel  a  long  stretch 
of  quiet,  uneventful  experience,  with  no 
deep  valleys  of  sorrow,  no  high  moun- 
tains of  happiness,  nothing  that  to  a 
stranger  would  seem  interesting  any  more 
than  the  unvaried  wastes  of  those  West- 
ern prairies,  so  familiar  to  our  hero.  Yet 
as  those  level  prairies  have  their  serene 
beauty  and  common  uses,  such  as  more 
striking  scenery  lacks,  so  had  these  few 

203 


204  PHIL   DEERY. 

coming  years  of  Phil's  experience  a 
worth  and  meaning  which  outsiders 
failed  to  see.  God  gave  them  to  him, 
as  he  did  the  forty  years  in  Midian  to 
Moses,  as  a  time  of  preparation,  as,  in- 
deed, in  some  way  or  other  he  gives  to 
each  of  his  children  whom  he  elects  to 
a  special  work  for  him.  It  would  be  well 
for  all  who  murmur  at  the  monotony  of 
their  lives  as  a  hindrance  to  the  great 
things  they  long  to  do  in  this  world  to 
accept  it  and  wait  with  patience  for  God's 
right  time. 

Very  different  from  the  exciting 
changes  of  scene  and  society  which  cha- 
racterized the  months  spent  with  Mr. 
Williston  in  missionary  work  were  the 
daily  duties  of  a  clerk  in  Captain  Marks's 
store.  "When  it  became  clear  to  the  good 
superintendent  that  his  young  friend 
needed  to  be  put  in^the  way  of  earning 
a  living  for  his  family,  he  all  at  once  dis- 
covered that  he,  Captain  Marks,  was  get- 
ting too  infirm  to  attend  to  the  increasing 


BRIGHTENING  AND   DARKENING.        205 

duties  of  postmaster  and  merchant,  and 
must  of  necessity  have  a  clerk,  so  Phil 
was  duly  installed  behind  the  counter, 
with  a  salary  quite  sufficient  to  keep  his 
mother  and  the  children  in  comfort. 

Mrs.  Derry  was  a  good  deal  surprised 
as  week  by  week  her  eldest  son  put  his 
earnings  in  her  hand,  but  she  was  too 
proud  or  too  sulky  to  ask  questions,  and 
he  made  no  explanation.  After  a  while 
things  began  to  look  brighter  in  the  dingy 
house.  Sallie  and  Lizzie  were  smart 
little  girls;  and  when  they  saw  that  it 
pleased  Phil  to  have  things  neat  and 
orderly,  they  took  pleasure  in  dusting 
and  arranging  the  worn,  broken  furni- 
ture to  the  best  advantage.  A  bunch  of 
flowers  might  now  and  then  be  seen  on 
the  mantel,  the  dishes  on  the  dinner- 
table  had  a  more  orderly  appearance,  the 
old  potato  pile  was  banished  from  the 
family  room.  Indeed,  many  improve- 
ments came  about,  so  gradually,  however, 
as  not  to  disturb  Mrs.  Derry  by  a  sense 

18 


206  PHIL   DERRY. 

•» 

of  change.  It  was  the  delight  of  the 
children  to  climb  on  Phil's  knee  when 
he  came  home  from  the  store  and  listen 
to  his  accounts  of  people  and  things  he 
had  seen  in  his  travels.  Over  and  over 
again  he  told  them  of  the  pleasant  home 
of  the  Carpenters  at  Shunem,  and  just 
as  often  something  about  Hallie  Hope 
would  slip  into  the  narrative.  If,  as  was 
often  the  case,  Sallie's  rough  mat  of  hair 
showed  the  need  'of  a  comb,  Phil  would 
tell  of  Hallie's  glossy  curls,  so  neat  and 
beautiful;  and  if  careless  Lizzie  tore  her' 
dress  in  climbing  trees  or  ran  to  meet 
him  with  a  dirty  face,  it  seemed  quite 
natural  to  mention  to  her  Hallie  Hope's 
lady-like  appearance.  Thus,  unknown 
to  their  brother,  the  ambition  of  the  lit- 
tle Derry  girls  came  to  be  to  have  their 
house  look  like  that  of  the  Carpenters 
and  themselves  like  Hallie  Hope. 

When  some  months  had  passed  in  the 
new  order  of  things,  Phil  made  bold  to 
ask  his  mother  if  she  had  any  objection 


BRIGHTENING   AND   DARKENING.        207 

to  his  reading  a  chapter  and  saying  a 
prayer  with  the  children  each  morning 
before  he  went  to  the  store.  He  expected 
a  rebuff — indeed,  he  half  feared  being 
driven  out  of  the  house  for  such  a  sug- 
gestion— but  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  make 
it.  Mrs.  Derry's  answer  was  a  happy 
surprise. 

"  You  are  now  master  of  the  house," 
said  she ;  "  you  support  the  family  :  you 
have  a  right  to  do  as  you  please.  Have 
all  the  praying  you  want ;  it's  none  of  my 
business.  I  shall  keep  out  of  the  way 
when  it's  going  on." 

Phil  was  overjoyed.  It  had  been  one 
of  his  dearest  hopes  since  he  entered 
upon  Christ's  service  to  have  his  home 
sanctified  by  family  prayer.  The  children 
submitted  to  the  arrangement  simply 
because  it  was  "  Phil's  notion."  Their 
mother,  true  to  her  word,  kept  out  of  the 
way  or  else  sat  in  gloomy  indifference  to 
both  reading  and  prayer.  She  never 
knelt,  she  never  said  "  Amen ;"  if  she 


208  PHIL   DERBY. 

even  heard  the  earnest  petitions  offered 
for  each  member  of  the  household,  she 
gave  no  sign.  Phil  thought  of  her  with 
many  a  sigh.  He  prayed  for  her  conver- 
sion as  a  matter  of  course,  but  somehow 
he  never  expected  it.  She  was  such  a 
very  queer  woman,  so  hardened,  too,  that 
he  never  dared  expect  to  see  her  become 
a  Christian.  Faithless  Phil !  as  if  He 
who  made  the  heart  could  not  change  it ! 
Saturday  evenings  were  always  busy 
times  at  Captain  Marks's  store.  Phil 
would  sometimes  run  home  at  tea-time 
and  take  a  bite  of  something  standing 
and  hurry  back  to  his  work.  Often  he 
did  not  find  time  to  go  home  at  all  until 
late  bed-time.  Eagleville,  like  some 
other  places,  prepared  for  its  day  of  rest 
by  pressing  an  extra  amount  of  work  into 
the  late  hours  of  Saturday,  and  the  week's 
purchases  were  usually  made  at  that  time. 
On  one  such  evening,  when  the  store  was 
full,  the  busy  clerk  stood  behind  the 
counter  showing  the  stock  of  flannels  to 


BRIGHTENING    AND   DARKENING.        209 

one  customer,  while  lie  weighed  out  sugar 
for  another  and  tried  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions of  one  or  two  more.  Suddenly  the 
door  was  opened  and  shut  with  a  violence 
that  made  everybody  turn  and  look,  and 
then  move  aside  to  let  the  new-comer 
get  near  the  counter.  It  was  Lizzie 
Derry,  out  of  breath  and  very  pale.  She 
took  no  notice  of  the  friendly  nods  of  the 
neighbours,  but  made  her  way  at  once  to 
her  brother  and  clutched  his  arm.  It 
was  done  so  quickly  and  strongly  that 
several  pieces  of  dry  goods  which  he  held 
fell  to  the  floor.  She  took  no  notice  of 
this,  but  cried  in  a  terrified  voice, 

"  Come  home,  Phil,  this  minute.  Mo- 
ther is  dying ;"  and  then,  without  a  word 
more,  the  girl  darted  out  again,  leaving 
salesman  and  purchasers  alike  stunned. 
Captain  Marks  stepped  up  and  whispered 
to  Phil,  then  quietly  thrust  him  aside 
and  proceeded  to  tie  up  the  sugar  and 
name  the  prices  of  the  different  pieces 
of  flannel  in  his  stead.  Phil  took  his 

18*  0 


210  PHIL  DERRY. 

hat  and  left  the  store  hurriedly,  Mrs. 
Striker  and  Mrs.  Jenks  following  him. 

PhiPs  rapid  pace  brought  him  to  the 
house  some  moments  before  the  two 
women  reached  it.  There  on  the  floor 
lay  Mrs.  Derry,  uttering  piercing  screams 
of  agony,  while  Lizzie  and  Sallie  stood 
wringing  their  hands  in  dismay,  but 
utterly  unable  to  do  anything  for  the 
relief  of  the  sufferer.  Phil  took  in  the 
scene  at  one  glance,  and  lifted,  or  rather 
dragged,  his  mother  to  her  bed.  As  soon 
as  Mrs.  Striker  and  Mrs.  Jenks  came  in 
he  left  her  in  their  charge  and  rushed 
off  for  the  doctor. 

The  accident  proved  to  be  one  as 
serious  as,  alas !  it  is  common.  Indeed, 
it  is  hardly  right  to  apply  the  word  "  ac- 
cident" to  what  was  inexcusable  careless- 
ness. The  method  of  Mrs.  Derry's  house- 
keeping was  always  to  do  things  with  the 
least  possible  trouble.  Acting  upon  this 
principle,  she  had  attempted  to  brighten 
the  dull  fire  by  pouring  in  the  contents 


BRIGHTENING   AND   DARKENING.        211 

of  her  can  of  kerosene  oil.  She  bent 
over  the  stove  to  watch  the  effect,  and 
instantly  the  wild  flame  darted  like  light- 
ning into  her  eyes  and  she  saw  nothing 
more.  With  unusual  presence  of  mind, 
she  felt  about  for  the  piece  of  rag  carpet 
that  served  as  a  mat  before  the  door  and 
wrapped  it  about  her  head ;  then,  over- 
come with  terror  and  pain,  she  fell  faint- 
ing upon  the  floor.  Lizzie  and  Sallie 
had  been  spending  the  evening  at  the 
next  neighbour's.  They  heard  the  unu- 
sual sounds  and  ran  home  at  once,  but 
were,  as  we  have  seen,  too  bewildered 
with  fright  to  render  any  service  to  their 
poor  mother. 

Mrs.  Striker  and  Mrs.  Jenks  lost  not 
a  moment,  but  loosed  the  sufferer's  cloth- 
ing and  applied  such  remedies  as  were 
within  reach.  It  was  providential  tha.t 
they  had  been  in  the  store  when  the 
news  was  brought,  for  in  all  Eagleville 
no  two  could  have  been  selected  so  well 
fitted  to  act  in  the  present  emergency. 


212  PHIL    DERRY. 

Mrs.  Jenks  was  a  quiet,  timid  person,  who 
seldom  ventured  to  express  an  opinion, 
but  her  fame  as  a  nurse  was  so  great  that 
whenever  the  measles  or  the  mumps 
entered  the  place,  Mrs.  Jenks  was  sent 
for  from  house  to  house,  and  the  mothers 
put  more  faith  in  her  simple  doses  than 
in  all  the  doctor's  prescriptions.  Mrs. 
Striker,  who  did  not  know  much  about 
caring  for  the  sick,  was  nevertheless  such 
an  energetic  person  that  Mrs.  Jenks  had 
only  to  say  do  thus  and  so  and  it  was 
done. 

"  I  wonder  where  we  could  find  some 
old  soft  rags?"  said  Mrs.  Jenks  as  they 
stood  together  at  the  bedside.  "Lizzie, 
do  you  happen  to  know  of  any  old  thing 
in  the  house  that  could  be  used  to  dress 
your  ma's  burns  ?" 

All  this  was  said  in  a  slow,  meditative 
manner.  Lizzie  only  answered  by  a 
blank  stare,  until  she  collected  her  wits 
sufficiently  to  remember  that  there  was 
a  worn-out  jacket  of  Sam's  somewhere  in 


BRIGHTENING  AND   DARKENING.        213 

the  garret.  She  was  not  sure  whether 
she  could  find  it  or  not.  Mrs.  Striker 
gave  an  impatient  sniff,  and  without  a 
word  took  off  her  own  clean  apron,  which 
she  had  donned  to  go  to  the  store,  reveal- 
ing a  large  faded  one  underneath.  This 
in  another  moment  was  untied,  torn  into 
strips,  and  thrust  into  Mrs.  Jenks's  hands. 

"The  very  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Jenks, 
and  proceeded  at  once  to  dress  the  suf- 
ferer's burns.  "  I  don't  know  how  'tis, 
Neighbour  Striker,  but  you  always  seem 
able  to  supply  whatever  is  most  wanted." 

"  That's  generally  gumption"  remarked 
the  other,  with  a  grim  smile  and  an  un- 
complimentary stress  on  the  last  word. 

By  and  by  the  doctor  arrived. 

"  Mrs.  Derry's  injuries  were  serious," 
he  said ;  "  her  life  depended  now  on  faith- 
ful, patient  nursing." 

"She'll  live,  then,  Doctor  Tom?"  said 
a  sharp  voice. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course.  I'll  stay  here  to- 
night and  look  in  when  I  can,  but  you 


214  PHIL   DERRY. 

couldn't  expect — I  have  my  own  family 
to  look  after,  and  Mrs.  Derry  and  I  are 
not —  Well,  I'll  do  what  I  can,  certainly." 

This  hesitating  speech  was  uttered  by 
Mrs.  Jenks,  who  took  it  for  granted  that 
Mrs.  Striker's  ready  assurance  of  good 
nursing  involved  her. 

"Don't  worry,  now,"  said  the  other. 
"  When  I  make  a  promise,  Mrs.  Jenks, 
I  don't  depend  on  other  folks  to  keep  it. 
I  suppose  you'll  be  willing  to  give  a  word 
of  advice  now  and  then.  Nursing  sick 
folks  ain't  just  in  my  line,  and  I  might 
make  mistakes  without  somebody  of  ex- 
perience to  look  to." 

The  doctor  took  his  leave  and  the  two 
women  began  their  night's  work.  It  was 
no  easy  one.  Mrs.  Derry  was  not,  as  we 
have  seen,  any  too  patient  in  health,  and 
now  that  severe  bodily  suffering  came 
upon  her  she  shrieked  and  moaned  and 
grumbled  incessantly.  Phil  took  his 
station  in  a  part  of  the  room  where  he 
would  not  be  in  the  way  of  those  passing 


HEIGHTENING  AND  DARKENING.        215 

about  the  bed.  His  eyes  were  fixed  anx- 
iously on  Mrs.  Jenks's  face,  and  at  every 
sign  that  something  was  wanted  he  sprang 
forward  to  help.  He  sent  his  two  sisters 
off  to  bed,  for  they,  poor  girls !  were  so 
nervous  and  excited  as  to  be  quite  inca- 
pable of  helping  and  were  only  in  the 
way.  He  attended  to  the  fire,  he  searched 
the  house  for  this  thing  and  that,  he  made 
tea  for  the  watchers — in  short,  he  proved 
so  kind  in  thought  and  prompt  in  action 
as  to  win  from  Mrs.  Striker  the  emphatic 
praise  that  "  that  Phil  Derry  was  a'most 
as  smart  as  a  woman." 

After  the  night  of  the  accident  the 
dull  house  became  full  of  bustle  and  ex- 
citement. People  came  to  inquire  after 
the  sick  woman  and  to  offer  their  services. 
The  door,  which  seldom  opened  to  admit 
visitors  at  other  times,  swung  on  its  hinges 
many  times  a  day.  Mrs.  Mercy  Striker 
reigned  supreme.  Lizzie  and  Sallie  did 
the  housework,  and  never  had  it  been 
done  so  well.  Not  a  speck  of  dust  ap- 


216  PHIL   DEREY. 

pearcd  on  the  scanty  furniture,  not  a 
hole  in  any  garment,  but  the  keen  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Striker  observed  it  and  her 
tongue  gave  due  reproof.  Phil  wondered 
how  things  became  all  at  once  so  coirifort- 
able  at  home.  Not  only  was  his  break- 
fast ready  every  morning  as  punctual  as 
the  clock  itself,  but  it  was  more  carefully 
cooked  than  ever  before.  His  clothes 
were  mended,  and  that  they  never  had 
been,  except  with  the  big  needle  and 
coarse  thread  which  he  always  carried  in 
his  pocket,  having  learned  their  use  from 
Mr.  Williston.  There  was  always  a  kind 
word  for  him,  too,  when  he  came  in  from 
the  store,  there  was  a  vigorous  "Amen" 
at  the  close  of  the  morning  and  evening 
prayer.  Altogether,  home  was  decidedly 
more  homelike  now  that  his  mother  was 
sick. 

Mrs.  Derry  gradually  got  better  under 
Mrs.  Striker's  business-like  nursing.  The 
burns  about  her  neck  and  face  healed, 
one  bandage  after  another  was  removed, 


BRIGHTENING  AND   DARKENING.       217 

and  finally  the  last  one,  across  her  fore- 
head and  eyes,  where  the  fire  had  done 
its  worst,  was  taken  off  Then  the  sad 
truth  became  known :  her  sight  was  en- 
tirely gone. 

The  doctor  had  come  in  one  morning, 
as  usual,  and  receiving  satisfactory  replies 
to  his  questions  told  Mrs.  Striker  that 
her  neighbourly  duties  were  about  done, 
and  that  by  the  close  of  another  day  at 
farthest  she  might  return  to  her  own 
home. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  she,  "  for 
it's  my  opinion  I  won't  find  a  whole  cup 
and  saucer  in  the  house,  my  Hannah  is 
such  a  giddy  thing,  and  I  haven't  a 
doubt  the  children  have  all  along  been 
making  dirt  pies  with  their  best  clothes 
on.  Yes,  it's  high  time  I  was  there  to 
see  after  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sick  woman ;  and  she 
seized  Mrs.  Striker's  hand  as  she  spoke ; 
"  you've  been  a  good,  good  friend  to  me — 
better  than  I  deserved.  You  must  not 

19 


218  PHIL   DERBY. 

stay  here  any  longer.  The  doctor  says 
this  bandage  can  come  off.  Undo  it  now, 
and  let  me  go  into  the  other  room." 

"Not  so  fast,  Mrs.  Derry,"  said  the 
doctor.  There  was  a  tone  of  anxiety  in 
his  voice,  but  that  the  sick  woman  did 
not  detect.  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well 
to  leave  it  on  one  day  more." 

"  No,  that  I  won't ;  I've  had  my  eyes 
tied  up  long  enough.  I  want  to  surprise 
Phil  when  he  comes  in.  He's  been  a 
good  boy,  that  Phil,  and  deserves  a  bet- 
ter mother  than  he's  got.  He'll  be  glad 
to  see  me  look  like  myself  again." 

The  nurse  and  the  doctor  exchanged 
glances.  "Look  like  herself !"  That  she 
did  not,  never  could.  The  deep,  ill- 
shaped  scars  gave  her  face  an  unnatural 
expression,  and  they  were  imprinted  there 
for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

"Shall  I?"  asked  Mrs.  Striker. 

The  doctor  nodded,  arid  the  bandage 
was  removed.  A  strange,  troubled  look 
overspread  the  poor  face  as  it  fell,  and 


BRIGHTENING  AND   DARKENING.        219 

then  one  shriek  of  distress  came  from 
the  patient's  lips. 

"  Well  ?"  questioned  the  doctor,  while 
Mrs.  Striker  looked  searchingly  into  the 
newly  uncovered  eyes. 

"D'ye  see  me?"  she  asked.  "D'ye 
see  that  bunch  of  flowers  on  the  table 
that  Marthy  Marks  brought  ye  ?  No," 
she  said,  almost  fiercely,  turning  to 
the  doctor,  "  she  don't  see  a  thing.  She's 
blind,  stone  blind,  I  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Deny  spoke  not  a  word.  After 
that  one  piercing  scream,  not  a  sound 
came  from  her  lips.  She  bore  the  doc- 
tor's examination  of  her  eyes,  then  hid 
her  face  in  the  shawl  which  was  thrown 
around  her. 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  Striker,"  the 
doctor  said  at  last.  "  She  is  blind.  Per- 
haps, if  the  case  were  put  in  the  hands 
of  an  experienced  oculist  at  the  East, 
something  might  be  done;  it  is  beyond 
my  power. 

That  noon,  as  Phil  was  walking  home- 


220  PHIL   DEERY. 

ward  with  light  step  and  hopeful  heart, 
Mrs.  Striker  met  him  about  halfway,  and 
turned  back  with  him  to  tell  him  the 
news  less  abruptly  than  Sallie  and  Lizzie 
would  be  apt  to  do. 

"  You've  borne  more  than  one  burden 
already,  Phil;  the  Lord  has  helped  you 
with  it.  Trust  him  about  this,  and  keep 
up  a  brave  heart." 

They  parted  at  the  house  door,  Phil 
entering  to  speak  to  his  poor  mother,  and 
his  companion  going  on  "a  piece  far- 
ther," to  see  if  Mrs.  Dunn  would  give 
her  the  recipe  for  that  salve  of  hers 
that  cured  everything  that  could  be 
named. 

"A  son  worth  having,"  said  Mrs. 
Striker  to  herself.  "  Almost  as  good  as 
a  woman,  that  Phil  Deny." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
"AMAZING  GRACE." 

Derry  girls  led  busy  lives  now. 
The  housework,  the  sewing,  the 
care  of  their  helpless  mother,  all 
came  upon  them.  There  were  no 
idle  hours  now  to  lean  on  the  gate  and 
chat  with  passers  by.  Lizzie,  who  in- 
herited Mrs.  Derry's  talent  for  grumbling, 
complained  pretty  often  of  the  hardship 
of  spending  the  whole  time  in  darning 
and  scrubbing  and  washing  dishes.  She 
took  good  care,  however,  that  none  of  her 
lamentations  should  reach  Phil's  ear. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  love  of  the  two  girls 
for  their  brother,  and  his  for  them,  that 
kept  the  domestic  machinery  in  order. 
"  For  Phil's  sake  "  were  the  magic  words 
causing  the  accomplishment  of  many  un- 
pleasant tasks.  The  family  misfortune 

19  *  221 


222  PHIL    DERRY. 

proved  a  family  blessing  in  thus  rousing 
these  two  careless,  thoughtless  girls  to  the 
faithful  performance  of  womanly  duties. 
It  taught  them  patience  and  self-denial, 
it  softened  their  voices  and  their  natures. 
Nevertheless,  the  kind  people  of  Eagle- 
ville  got  in  the  habit  of  calling  them 
"  those  poor  Derry  girls." 

From  morning  till  night  a  quiet  figure 
sat  by  the  fireside,  sometimes  knitting  a 
few  rounds  on  a  sock,  but  oftener  with 
folded  hands  gently  rocking  back  and 
forth.  The  shrill,  scolding  voice  was  no 
longer  heard  about  the  house,  nor  the 
impatient  slamming  and  clattering  that 
were  wont  to  express  more  forcibly  than 
words  a  mind  unsatisfied  and  ill  at  ease. 
Sallie  and  Lizzie  often  spoke  to  each  other 
of  the  change  in  their  mother.  They 
could  not  understand  this  new  freedom 
from  faultfinding.  Sam  one  day  let  an 
armful  of  wood  fall  upon  the  hearth.  It 
came  down  with  a  crash,  and  one  piece 
knocked  Mrs.  Derry's  foot.  The  careless 


AMAZING  GRACE.  223 

boy  looked  at  her  in  anticipation  of  a 
sharp  reproof;  all  his  mother  said  was, 
"  Try  to  do  things  more  carefully,  my 
son."  Sam  gazed  at  his  mother  in  as- 
tonishment and  made  no  reply,  but  went 
directly  to  the  yard,  where  his  sisters  were 
hanging  the  newly-washed  clothes  on  the 
line,  and  drew  their  attention  by  a  pro- 
longed "  Whew !" 

"Well,  Sam,  what  is  it?"  inquired 
Sallie. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  girls,"  said  he, 
solemnly.  "  Mother  is  going  to  die,  for 
sure." 

"  Why,  Sam,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 
asked  both  in  a  breath. 

"  Just  that  when  a  body's  disposition 
changes  so,  all  of  a  sudden,  it's  a  very 
bad  sign.  I've  heard  folks  say  so,  and 
it's  true.  Did  you  ever  know  anybody 
to  let  a  stick  fall  on  mother's  foot  and 
she  not  say  a  cross  word  ?  No  ?  Well, 
she  did  just  now ;  and  I  know  she'll  die 
before  long." 


224  PHIL  DERRY. 

At  this  speech  Lizzie  and  Sallie 
laughed  and  bade  Sam  "hush  talking 
such  nonsense;"  but  for  all  that,  they 
too  felt  impressed  with  the  unwonted 
gentleness  of  the  invalid,  and  were  more 
anxious  concerning  her  than  they  cared 
to  own. 

Phil  came  home  from  the  store  one 
night  and  found  the  room  dark  and  silent. 
He  struck  a  light,  and  then  discovered 
Mrs.  Derry  sitting  in  her  usual  place,  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

"What,  mother?  You  up  yet!  all 
alone  too !  Where  are  the  girls  ?  I  don't 
like  to  have  you  left  alone  since  that 
dreadful  night." 

"The  girls  went  to  bed  early — they 
were  tired  out,  poor  things !  but  as  for  me, 
my  son,  do  not  be  uneasy.  I  am  really 
safer  now  than  before  I  lost  my  sight.  I 
don't  move  about  the  house  as  I  used  to, 
and  I  never  go  nearer  the  fire  than  I  am 
this  minute," 

"  And  vou  don't  meddle  with  the  oil- 


"Sing  it  for  me." 


p.  235. 


AMAZING   GRACE.  225 

can  any  more,  do  you  ?"  said  Phil,  smil- 
ing. As  he  spoke  he  drew  a  chair  close 
beside  his  mother  and  sat  down,  so  that 
she  might  assure  herself  of  his  presence 
by  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  as 
was  her  habit  nowadays.  Could  any 
one  have  seen  the  mother  and  son  sitting 
thus  together  that  evening,  surely  he 
never  would  have  recognized  in  them 
the  defiant  boy  and  shrill-voiced  woman 
who  years  before  had  received  the  mis- 
sionary's call  in  that  very  room. 

Phil  tenderly  patted  the  thin  brown 
hand  that  lay  idle  in  the  blind  woman's 
lap,  and  quite  unconsciously  began  whist- 
ling the  tune  of  a  familiar  hymn. 

"  Sing  it  for  me,"  whispered  Mrs.  Der- 
ry.  "  Sing  it  all  the  way  through.  That 
was  one  of  my  favourites  in  old  times. 
Often  and  often  have  I  led  off  with  that 
in  the  prayer-meetings  at  Milltown.  It 
begins  this  way,  don't  it  ?"  and  in  a  thin, 
tremulous  voice  she  began  singing  the 
familiar  words  that  have  expressed  the 


226  PHIL    DERRY. 

gratitude  of  thousands  of  Christians  now 
gone  to  their  rest : 

"  Amazing  grace  !  how  sweet  the  sound 

That  saved  a  wretch  like  me ! 
I  once  was  lost,  but  now  am  found, 
Was  blind,  but  now  I  see." 

What  a  pathetic  earnestness  came  into 
the  poor  weak  voice  as  over  and  over  the 
tune  called  for  the  repetition  of  the  clos- 
ing words, 

"  Was  blind,  but  now  I  see." 

"  Ah !"  sighed  Mrs.  Derry,  pausing  for 
breath,  "I  can't  make  it  sound  like  it  did 
when  I  was  a  girl  and  had,  folks  said, 
the  finest  voic6  in  the  choir.  But  it 
means  more  to  me  now  than  ever  it  did. 
Do  you  go  on  with  it,  Phil.  Begin  the 
second  verse, '  'Twas  grace — '  You  know 
how  it  goes,  don't  you  ?" 

All  this  time  the  young  man  had  sat 
leaning  forward,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his 
mother's  face,  lost  in  wonder  at  the  new 
expression  he  saw  there,  as  well  as  at  the 


AMAZING   GRACE.  227 

words  she  had  sung.  A  thought  darted 
across  his  mind  similar  to  that  of  Sam's 
when  he  dropped  the  stick  on  her  toes 
and  got  no  scolding  for  it.  He  could  not 
obey  the  request  for  a  moment  or  two  for 
very  amazement.  What  had  changed 
that  face?  There  were  the  same  plain 
features  and  dull  complexion,  and,  added 
to  other  defects,  there  was  the  peculiar 
vacant  stare  of  blindness.  Nevertheless, 
at  that  instant  Mrs.  Derry's  face  was  al- 
most beautiful.  It  was  the  prophecy  of 
that  heavenly  mark  by  which  hereafter 
all  the  followers  of  the  Lamb  shall  be 
known — the  seal  in  the  forehead. 

Then  Phil's  strong,  manly  voice  took 
up  the  hymn  where  the  weak,  trembling 
one  of  his  mother  had  left  it,  and  Sallie, 
startled  from  her  sleep  in  the  room  above 
by  the  unusual  sound,  lay  still  and 
listened : 

"  'Twos  grace  that  taught  my  heart  to  fear, 

And  grace  my  fears  relieved  ; 
How  precious  did  that  grace  appear 
The  hour  I  first  believed  ! 


228  PHIL   DERIT 

"Through  many  dangers,  toils,  and  snares 

I  have  already  come  : 
'Tis  grace  has  brought  me  safe  thus  far, 
And  grace  will  lead  me  home." 

When  the  exulting  words  of  the  last 
line,  thrice  repeated  in  the  glorious  old 
tune,  were  sung,  and  there  followed  a 
moment  of  silence,  Sallie  shook  her 
sleeping  sister,  and  whispered  nervously, 
"  Lizzie,  do  wake  up !  I'm  sure  Sam 
was  right  and  mother  must  be  going  to 
die,  for  there's  Phil  singing  hymns  to 
her." 

"  Nonsense  !"  answered  drowsy  Lizzie. 
"  You're  as  bad  as  Sam,  every  bit.  If  ma 
felt  worse,  she'd  be  calling  us  up  to  do 
something  for  her.  Hymns  don't  kill 
people.  Turn  over,  do,  and  go  to  sleep 
again." 

Almost  as  soon  as  the  words  were  out 
of  her  mouth  Lizzie  was  snoring,  but  her 
sister,  really  alarmed,  sat  up  in  bed  and 
listened  for  what  should  come  next. 
There  was  a  slight  movement  below,  and 
then  Phil's  voice  in  low  and  continuous 


AMAZING   GRACE.  229 

speaking  reached  her  ears  through  the 
cracks  in  the  floor.  Softly  slipping  out 
of  the  bed,  she  went  to  the  widest  open- 
ing between  the  boards  and  put  her  head 
down.  She  could  both  see  and  hear. 
The  mother  and  son  were  kneeling  to- 
gether; the  one  was  sobbing,  the  other 
praying.  Oh  what  a  joyful,  grateful 
prayer  was  that!  Certainly  the  angels 
in  heaven  must  have  listened  with  happy 
sympathy.  In  that  dingy,  dull  room  on 
the  outskirts  of  a  small  Western  town 
had  been  enacted  that  miracle  of  grace 
over  which  it  is  said  there  is  "joy  in 
heaven,"  the  repentance  of  a  sinner,  the 
restoration  of  a  soul  to  God. 

Sallie  crept  back  to  bed  and  lay  there 
quite  motionless,  so  as  not  to  wake  her 
sister.  She  did  not  want  to  talk  to  some- 
body, as  before,  but  to  think.  Surely 
nothing  had  ever  happened  in  the  family 
so  strange  as  this.  Her  father's  death, 
her  mother's  accident,  had  been  startling 
events,  to  be  sure,  but  neither  of  these 
20 


230  PHIL   DERBY. 

had  struck  the  young  girl's  heart  with 
such  a  feeling  of  wonder  and  solemnity 
as  the  sight  of  her  mother  kneeling  in 
prayer.  She  understood  at  once  what  it 
meant  and  knew  the  secret  of  that  change 
of  disposition  which  had  so  alarmed  Sam. 
It  was  not  the  sign  of  approaching  death, 
but  of  a  new  life. 

Sallie's  amazement  would  not  let  her 
sleep.  When  all  was  quiet  down  stairs, 
she  still  lay  thinking  of  that  which  had 
happened,  while  the  hymn,  familiar  to 
her  as  one  often  used  in  prayer-meeting 
and  Sunday-school,  kept  singing  itself 
over  and  over  in  her  mind  : 

"  Amazing  grace !  how  sweet  the  sound !" 

Just  what  those  words  meant  the  young 
girl  did  not  know,  for  as  yet  they  formed 
no  part  of  her  experience,  but  surely  they 
were  powerful  ones  in  their  effect  upon 
her  mother.  She  resolved  to  find  them 
in  her  hymn-book  next  day  and  commit 
them  to  memory. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

A  TALK  IN  CAPTAIN  MARKS' 'S  BACK  BOOM. 

S  the  months  went  on,  Phil,  hav- 
ing learned  whatever  he  did  to 
do  "  heartily  as  unto  the  Lord," 
became  more  and  more  useful  to 
his  employer.  Captain  Marks  was  get- 
ting old,  and  it  tired  him  more  than 
formerly  to  stand  behind  the  counter 
while  one  of  those  sharp  women  known 
in  every  community  as  first-rate  shoppers 
tried  to  "beat  him  down"  on  the  price 
of  goods,  or  a  youngster  lingered  for  ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  deliberating  between 
taffy  and  peppermint  candy.  He  grad- 
ually slipped  the  entire  work  from  his 
own  to  his  clerk's  shoulders,  until  at  last 
it  was  only  in  name  that  he  was  at  the 
head  of  the  business.  The  good  old  man 
loved  Phil  as  his  own  son,  and  Phil  re- 

2.-J1 


232  PHIL   DERBY. 

paid  that  love  with  an  obedience  and 
respect  beyond  that  which  in  former 
years  he  had  given  his  own  father.  One 
day  the  captain,  in  waiting  upon  a  custo- 
mer, had  occasion  to  reach  for  some  arti- 
cles on  an  upper  shelf.  In  stepping  down 
from  the  stool  on  which  he  had  mounted 
he  overturned  a  large  box  of  clothes- 
pins and  sent  them  rolling  about  the 
floor.  This  little  accident  annoyed  the 
old  man,  and  he  several  times  through 
the  day  alluded  to  it,  blaming  his  rheum- 
atism and  his  poor  sight  for  what  he 
called  such  stupid  clumsiness.  When, 
at  the  usual  hour  for  closing  the  store, 
Phil  took  his  overcoat  from  the  peg  and 
was  putting  it  on,  Captain  Marks  came 
up  and  playfully  took  it  from  his  hand 
and  hung  it  up  again. 

"  Don't  go  yet,"  said  he.  "  Come  into 
the  back  room  a  few  minutes ;  I  want  to 
have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

The  young  man  followed  him  into  the 
family  sitting-room,  wondering  what  this 


A   TALK.  233 

unexpected  formality  could  mean  and 
what  the  captain  could  have  to  say  to 
him  that  demanded  more  privacy  than 
was  afforded  by  the  now  vacant  store. 

"  My  boy,"  began  Captain  Marks  as 
soon  as  they  were  seated,  "  I'm  getting 
old." 

"  Oh,  not  so  very  old,  sir ;  I  hope  you 
have  a  good  many  years  before  you  yet," 
said  Phil,  cordially. 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"  Just  think  what  a  clumsy  piece  of 
work  I  made  with  those  clothes-pins," 
said  he. 

Phil  laughed. 

"  I  do  things  much  worse  than  that," 
he  said.  "  Don't  you  know  the  mistake 
I  made  last  week  about  Mrs.  Callahan's 
sugar?  No,  you  were  not  in  the  store 
that  afternoon.  She  sent  her  little  girl 
for  a  pound  of  white  sugar ;  she  wanted 
it  for  a  cake.  I  don't  know  where  my 
wits  were  wandering,  but  I  sent  her  a 
pound  of  salt.  It  seems  she  put  it  in  the 

20* 


234  PHIL   DEERY. 

cake  without  tasting,  and  spoiled  it,  of 
course.  I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Callahan  will 
ever  forgive  me  for  that  piece  of  careless- 
ness. How  much  worse  that  was,  now, 
than  upsetting  a  few  clothes-pins !" 

The  captain  laughed  heartily,  but  grew 
sober  again  instantly. 

"  I'm  getting  old,"  he  repeated,  "  and  I 
want  to  put  my  worldly  affairs  into  such 
a  shape  that  if  the  Lord  should  call  me 
suddenly  I  may  not  be  worried  at  the 
very  last  minute  about  the  store.  It's 
not  the  thing  to  go  to  meeting  with  your 
head  full  of  week-day  affairs  till  you  get 
to  the  very  door,  and  it's  worse  still  to 
get  almost  up  to  the  door  of  eternity  with 
your  mind  choke  full  of  thoughts  about 
bills  to  be  made  out  and  goods  to  be 
ordered.  I've  had  a  good  long  week  of 
it,  my  lad,  toiling  and  moiling  for  a  living 
since  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  I  want 
to  stop  off  now  and  get  ready  for  my 
Sabbath  up  above." 

The  tears  had  come  into  the  listener's 


A  TALK.  235 

eyes;  and  when  the  captain  paused,  he 
had  no  answer  ready  but  a  silent  nod. 

"  I  have  no  one  belonging  to  me,  you 
see,"  continued  the  captain — "no  one 
but  the  old  woman  and  Martha,  no  son 
or  nephew  to  step  into  the  business." 

"  I  see,  sir." 

"But,  Phil,  I've  got  you.  You've 
been  as  faithful  to  me  as  son  or  nephew 
could  have  been.  I've  studied  the  mat- 
ter all  out.  Let  the  women-folks,  if  they 
outlive  me,  keep  up  the  hotel  business. 
They're  used  to  it,  and  the  work'll  keep 
them  from  grieving  so  much.  I  want  you, 
Phil  Deny,  to  keep  up  the  store.  No ; 
hear  me  out,"  said  he,  for  Phil  was  about 
to  interrupt  him.  "  You  are  to  succeed  me 
in  the  business.  You  know  all  the  ins 
and  outs  of  it  by  this  time ;  and  if  you  keep 
on  as  you've  begun,  you'll  be  a  rich  man 
some  day.  I  shall  expect  you  to  pay  a 
certain  percentage  of  the  profits  to  the 
old  woman  and  Martha.  We'll  settle 
about  that  by  and  by.  But  what  I  want 


236  PHIL   DEKRY. 

to-night,  my  boy,  is  to  let  you  know  my 
wish  and  to  hear  your  answer." 

"Captain  Marks,"  began  Phil,  "you 
have  been  a  kind,  generous  friend  to 
me.  I  can't  begin  at  this  late  day  to 
thank  you  for  all  you've  done  and  all 
you  mean  to  do,  but — " 

"But!"  echoed  the  captain,  rather 
sharply;  "there  isn't  any  'but'  about  it. 
I  tell  you  plainly  I  want  you  to  go  on  in 
the  store  as  you  have  done  as  long  as  I 
live,  and  when  I  die  to  go  right  on  with 
the  business.  I  hope  you  don't  object 
to  paying  the  small  percentage  I  spoke 
of?" 

"  No,  no,  no !"  exclaimed  Phil.  "  You 
do  not  understand  me.  It  is  not  that. 
It  is  that  I  have  set  my  heart  on  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  work.  I  have  been  pray- 
ing, planning,  and  studying  for  it  ever 
since  I  came  home,  all  the  time  I  have 
been  working  for  you." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  asked  the  captain,  speak- 
ing slowly  and  with  evident  disappoint- 


A  TALK.  237 

merit.  "Is  it  anything  here  in  Eagle- 
ville  ?  Let  me  hear  about  it." 

In  answer  to  this  request  Phil  unbur- 
dened his  heart.  He  narrated  the  story 
of  his  disgrace  at  Clegg  Hole,  his  meet- 
ing with  Mr.  Williston  and  its  result, 
and  the  call  which  he  felt  had  come  from 
God  to  his  own  soul  to  follow  that  good 
man's  example  and  go  forth  to  establish 
Sunday-schools  in  the  needy  places  of 
the  West. 

During  this  recital  Captain  Marks  had 
occasion  to  clear  his  throat  and  wipe  his 
spectacles  several  times.  At  its  close  he 
grasped  Phil's  hand  in  both  of  his  and 
said: 

"What  am  I  that  I  should  fight 
against  God  ?  Go,  and  may  his  blessing 
follow  you !  I'll  try  and  not  mind  about 
the  store.  To-morrow  I'll  feel  all  right 
about  it.  We  Eagleville  folks  have  had 
a  great  favour  from  the  Almighty  in 
having  that  Sunday-school  started ;  we 
ought  to  rejoice  in  sending  out  one  of 


238  PHIL   DERBY. 

our  own  boys  to  carry  that  same  bless- 
ing elsewhere.  We  ought  to  rejoice,  I 
say,  and  we  do.  I  do — leastways,  Phil, 
I'll  try  my  best  to,"  continued  Captain 
Marks,  careful  to  keep  to  the  truth  even 
in  the  warmth  of  his  enthusiasm. 

"  But  look  here,  boy,"  said  he,  after 
the  pause  of  a  moment  or  two :  "  if  you 
go  off  to  your  missionary  work,  what's 
going  to  become  of  that  poor  blind  moth- 
er of  yours,  and  the  girls  too  ?  There's 
a  text  somewheres — I  can't  be  sure  of 
chapter  and  verse — where  it  speaks  about 
tending  to  other  folks'  vineyards  and 
neglecting  your  own.  You  wouldn't  be 
the  fellow,  now,  would  you,  to  go  off 
working  for  strangers  and  leave  them 
that  are  your  own  flesh  and  blood  to  be 
cared  for  by  others  ?"  A  little  cloud  of 
anxiety  passed  over  the  kind  old  face  at 
the  thought  from  which  these  questions 
sprang. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  wouldn't,"  was 
Phil's  very  emphatic  answer.  "You 


A  TALK.  239 

don't  think  so  meanly  of  me  as  that,  do 
you,  captain  ?" 

The  cloud  on  the  other's  face  disap- 
peared at  once,  and  he  grasped  his  clerk's 
hand  with  a  cordiality  that  meant  more 
than  words. 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  leaving  home  yet," 
said  Phil ;  "  indeed,  I  am  not  ready  for 
such  a  great  work.  I  want  to  keep  on 
studying  and  improving  myself  until  I 
see  the  way  open.  It  may  be  years  yet, 
but  I  am  certain  that  when  God  wants 
me  to  go  he  will  make  the  way  plain.  It 
is  pretty  clear  that  for  the  present  he 
means  to  have  me  keep  just  where  I  am." 

"  Well  said,  my  boy  !  I  didn't  believe 
you'd  run  away  from  your  poor  mother." 

"  No,  sir,  indeed  I  will  not.  I  mean 
to  work  for  her  until  Sam  is  able  to  take 
my  place,  or  till  one  of  the  girls  marries 
and  provides  a  home  for  mother.  I  don't 
know  how  it'll  be,  but  you  may  be  sure 
I  shall  not  stir  from  home  so  long  as  my 
mother  needs  me." 


240  PHIL,   DERBY. 

The  captain  stood  up  and  opened  the 
door  leading  into  the  store.  "  You  must 
go  home  now,"  said  he.  "  I've  kept  you 
later  than  I  meant  to.  It's  a  great  blow 
to  me,  Phil  Derry,  this  matter  about  the 
business.  You're  a  good,  brave  fellow, 
and  I  like  you  even  better  than  I  did 
before.  Still,  I'm  disappointed  —  I'm 
greatly  disappointed." 

The  captain  held  out  his  hand.  Phil 
shook  it,  and  bidding  him  good-night 
started  on  his  way  homeward.  As  he 
paused  outside  the  store  door  to  button 
up  his  overcoat  he  heard  his  dear  old 
friend  within  still  repeating  to  himself, 
"  I'm  disappointed — greatly  disappointed." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

QUESTIONS  OF  TASTE. 

FEW  weeks  after  the  conversation 
just  related  a  letter  came,  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Derry.  The  en- 
velope  was  edged  with  black,  the 
writing  was  cramped  and  crooked,  and 
the  postmark  bore  the  name  of  Millville. 
Of  all  this  Phil  took  note  as  he  walked 
toward  home  with  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
Not  more  than  twice  within  his  memory 
had  his  mother  received  a  letter.  She 
had  kept  up  no  communication  with 
friends  at  the  East  since  the  earliest 
years  of  her  married  life,  and  the  two 
epistles  which  had  broken  the  silence 
were,  one  to  tell  her  of  her  father's  death, 
the  other  to  announce  her  only  brother's 
marriage.  It  was  therefore  with  some 

21  Q  241 


242  PHIL   DERBY. 

curiosity  that  he  put  this  one  in  his  moth- 
er's hand  for  her  to  "see  with  her  fin- 
gers," and  then,  at  her  request,  opened 
and  read  it  to  her.  It  was  short,  poorly 
written,  incorrectly  spelled,  but  its  con- 
tents had  an  important  influence  on  the 
future  of  the  Derry  family.  Phil  ex- 
pressed his  opinion  about  the  letter  before 
his  return  to  the  store,  and  during  the 
afternoon  Lizzie,  Sallie,  and  Sam  were 
each  called  upon  to  read  it  aloud  and 
say  what  they  also  thought. 

Mrs.  Derry 's  only  brother,  from  whom 
she  had  not  heard  since  his  marriage,  had 
lately  died,  and  the  "  Hannah  Goodwin  " 
who  had  written  to  announce  the  fact  was 
his  widow.  Mr.  Goodwin  had  been  a 
prosperous  farmer,  and  the  land  which 
he  had  worked  faithfully  to  improve  was 
left  an  unencumbered  property  for  his 
widow.  There  were  no  children  to  share 
with  her  the  money  or  the  home.  In 
plain,  homely  language  she  told  her  un- 
known sister-in-law  this  fact,  and  that 


QUESTIONS  OP  TASTE.  243 

she  felt  very  desolate  in  her  big,  empty 
house.  She  had  heard,  she  did  not  say 
how,  of  Mrs.  Derry's  twofold  sorrow,  her 
widowhood  and  blindness ;  also  that  she 
was  poor.  It  was  her  wish,  wrote  this 
good  woman,  quite  as  much  as  it  was  her 
duty,  to  invite  her  husband's  sister  and 
her  children  to  accept  a  home  with  her. 
She  wanted  to  provide  for  them,  and 
would  feel  amply  rewarded  by  the  com- 
fort of  their  society.  She  asked  that  a 
reply  should  be  given  at  once,  and  prom- 
ised that  on  Mrs.  Derry's  agreeing  to  her 
proposal  she  would  send  means  to  pay 
the  travelling  expenses. 

What  did  Phil  think  about  the  mat- 
ter ?  Mrs.  Derry  must  have  the  counsel 
of  her  elder  son  before  she  even  ex- 
pressed her  own  wish.  Did  he  think  it 
wise  to  fall  in  with  the  plan  of  Henry's 
widow,  break  up  their  home,  and  all  of 
them  start  eastward  ? 

Phil's  heart  beat  tumultuously.  Was 
God  already  making  the  way  plain  for 


244  PHIL   DERBY. 

him  to  enter  upon  his  chosen  work  ?  He 
had  told  Captain  Marks  that  he  would 
not  leave  home  so  long  as  his  mother 
needed  him.  If  she  should  decide  to 
take  the  others  and  go  to  Millville,  he 
would  be  left  a  free  man.  These  thoughts 
darted  through  his  mind  with  such  a  sud- 
denness of  hope  that  when  his  mother 
asked  him  for  his  advice  he  felt  unable  to 
give  it  for  fear  of  being  influenced  by  his 
own  desire. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,  mother; 
it  is  something  for  you  only  to  decide. 
Go,  if  it  will  make  you  happy  to  live 
once  more  in  your  old  home.  Stay,  if 
you  are  satisfied  to  go  on  as  we  are  living 
now.  I  am  sure  that  Sam  and  I  and  the 
girls  will  do  our  best  to  make  you  happy. 
I  have  only  one  bit  of  counsel  to  give — 
that  is  to  make  this  question  the  subject 
of  prayer  before  you  decide  one  way  or 
the  other." 

When  Lizzie  was  asked  for  an  opinion, 
she  said,  "  Oh,  do  go,  ma  !  Aunt  Han- 


QUESTIONS    OF   TASTE.  245 

nah  has  a  big  house  and  plenty  of  money. 
Sallie  and  I  can  dress  like  other  girls  and 
go  into  company ;  and  of  course  you'll 
have  things  a  deal  more  comfortable  than 
you  ever  can  in  this  miserable  place." 

Sallie  took  the  same  view  of  the  sub- 
ject that  her  sister  did,  with  the  addi- 
tional idea  that  if  Aunt  Hannah  was  as 
good  as  she  seemed  perhaps  she  could 
coax  her  into  giving*  them  a  year's 
schooling. 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Sam,  "  it's  all  the 
same  what  you  women-folks  do.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  to  try  my  luck  at  the 
mines.  There's  two  or  three  fellows  go- 
ing to  start  in  a  month  or  two.  They 
want  me  to  go  with  them.  I  shall  make 
a  fortune  in  no  time,  and  one  of  these 
days,  if  you  go  to  Millville,  you'll  look 
out  of  the  window  and  say,  *  Why,  who 
can  this  be  driving  up  to  the  door  with 
such  a  fine  carriage,  and  such  splendid 
horses?'  and  then  you  will  cry  out, 
'  Why,  it's  our  own  brother  Sam  with 
21  * 


PHIL   DERRY. 


bran-new  clothes  and  boots  so  bright  you 
could  see  your  face  in  'em.' ' 

The  girls  laughed  aloud  as  Sam  uttered 
this  boast  and  marched  up  and  down  the 
room  to  show  how  important  he  would 
look  on  that  imaginary  occasion.  Mrs. 
Derry  gave  a  quiet  sigh  which  nobody 
heeded  in  the  excitement  of  looking 
ahead  to  the  possible  realization  of  so 
many  wishes.  The  sigh  came  from  the 
thought  that  each  of  the  young  folks  was 
bent  upon  finding  his  or  her  own  plea- 
sure, and  nobody  but  Phil  cared  to  de- 
cide what  was  best  for  her,  their  mother. 
Then  conscience  asked  a  question  within 
her  which  brought  another  sigh.  Had 
she  been  such  a  mother  as  to  deserve  the 
love  and  gratitude  of  her  children  ?  Had 
she  set  them  an  example  of  unselfish- 
ness ?  Was  it  not  rather  a  cause  of  won- 
der that  they  had  turned  out  as  good  as 
they  were? 

The  day  following,  a  letter  was  mailed 
in  Eagleville,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Hannah 


QUESTIONS  OF  TASTE.  247 

Goodwin.  Phil  had  written  it,  and  the 
whole  family  had  dictated  its  contents. 
The  aunt's  kind  offer  was  accepted.  Mrs. 
Derry  and  her  two  daughters  would  be 
ready  to  go  to  Millville  as  soon  as  the 
money  for  the  journey  could  be  sent.  As 
for  the  two  sons,  Mrs.  Derry  wrote,  or  it 
was  written  in  her  name,  they  were  of  an 
age  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and  they 
preferred  remaining  in  the  West.  The 
letter  contained  a  warm  expression  of 
gratitude  to  the  unknown  aunt  and  sister- 
in-law  for  remembering  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  affliction  her  needy  relatives.  A 
year  before,  such  thankfulness  would 
have  been  impossible  to  Mrs.  Derry.  She 
would  either  have  refused  Mrs.  Good- 
win's offer  or  accepted  it  grumblingly. 
Ah,  what  wondrous  changes  the  grace 
of  God  can  make ! 

There  was  great  stir  and  commotion  in 
the  dull  house  after  this.  Miss  Pinkham, 
the  fashionable  dressmaker  of  Eagleville, 
was  called  in  and  consulted  about  the 


PHIL  DERBY. 

making  over  and  retrimming  of  old 
dresses.  "  It  would  never  do,"  said  Liz- 
zie, "  to  let  Aunt  Hannah  think  that  we 
wore  our  clothes  until  they  fell  to  pieces, 
whether  they  were  in  style  or  not." 

"  But  that  would  be  the  truth,  Lizzie," 
said  honest  Phil.  "  It  seems  to  me  no 
disgrace  for  poor  people  to  wear  clothes 
that  are  out  of  style,  provided  they  are 
clean  and  neat.  There  was  Miss  Hallie 
Hope.  I  do  not  believe  she  kept  so 
closely  to  the  fashion  as  you  girls  try  to 
do,  yet  her  dresses  always  looked  nice." 

"  Bah  !"  exclaimed  Sallie ;  "  boys  and 
men  don't  understand  such  things.  I 
don't  believe  but  that  Miss  Hallie  studied 
the  fashions  quite  as  much  as  we  do;  and 
if  she  was  always  so  prettily  dressed,  it 
was  because  she  had  more  money  to 
spend  and  did  not  have  to  plan  and  con- 
trive to  make  old  things  answer  for  new, 
as  we  do." 

This  was  said  sharply,  and  an  ugly 
frown  disfigured  the  young  girl's  pretty 


QUESTIONS    OF   TASTE.  249 

face  as  she  spoke.  The  sisters  were  sit- 
ting together,  busily  ripping  up  a  bright 
blue  dress  of  Lizzie's  that  was  destined 
by  a  little  alteration  to  make  a  travelling- 
suit  for  Sallie,  who  was  shorter  and  not 
so  stout,  and  could  therefore  often  make 
use  of  what  the  other  had  cast  aside. 
Phil's  eye  rested  on  the  garment.  He 
remembered  how. often  he  had  seen  his 
sister  wear  it  with  a  green  ribbon  on  her 
neck  and  a  red  plaid  shawl,  and  said, 

"  It  is  quite  true,  Sallie,  that  boys  and 
men  don't  understand  these  things  as 
women  do,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  good 
taste  is  no  more  expensive  than  bad. 
I  can't  believe  that  quiet,  lady-like  colours 
cost  any  more  than  bright,  vulgar  ones. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  I  think  our 
aunt  would  be  much  better  pleased  to  see 
you  in  plain,  modest  dresses  than  decked 
out  in  the  cheap,  coarse  finery  you  girls 
wear.  That  pair  of  earrings,  now,  and 
that  brassy-looking  chain  on  your  neck  ! 
Why,  Sallie,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they 


250  PHIL  DERRY. 

cost  enough  to  have  bought  each  of  you 
a  decent  calico  dress." 

"  A  calico  dress  !"  exclaimed  both  girls; 
and  Sallie,  too  angry  at  the  remark  about 
her  ornaments  to  say  another  word,  seized 
the  part  of  the  dress  she  was  at  work  on 
and  flounced  out  of  the  room.  Lizzie 
kept  her  seat,  but  bent  her  head  and 
ripped  away  vigorously. 

Phil  saw  from  where  he  stood  that  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  crossed  the 
room  and  laid  his  hand  caressingly  on 
her  head.  "  I  did  not  think  it  would  vex 
you  so,"  said  he,  kindly. 

"  Oh,  we  know  very  well  that  you 
think  we  waste  your  money.  You  are 
too  stingy  to  like  to  see  Sallie  and  me 
have  pretty  things  like  other  girls.  Cal- 
ico dresses  are  quite  good  enough  for  us, 
when  you  have  to  pay  for  them.  I'm 
real  glad  we're  going  to  live  with  Aunt 
Hannah.  You'll  soon  be  able  to  save  up 
your  money  for  yourself,  or  to  buy  tracts 
and  primers  for  the  missionary  work  you 


QUESTIONS   OF   TASTE.  251 

have  set  your  heart  on.  Try  and  put  up 
with  us  a  little  longer,  do !" 

Lizzie's  voice  was  by  this  time  so 
choked  with  sobs  that  she  could  hardly 
speak.  She  had  never  spoken  so  disre- 
spectfully to  her  older  brother  before; 
but  the  remark  about  the  "  cheap,  coarse 
finery"  and  "  bright,  vulgar  colours"  had 
hurt  her  very  much.  Whether  she  and 
her  sister  had  good  taste  or  not,  they  were 
quite  as  sensitive  as  other  girls,  and  could 
not  bear  to  have  their  dresses  criticised. 
Lizzie  pushed  away  Phil's  hand,  which 
again  rested  affectionately  on  her  head, 
threw  down  her  work,  and  rushed  out  of 
the  room  as  her  sister  had  done.  Phil 
sighed,  took  up  the  gay,  soiled  material 
from  the  floor,  and  carefully  folded  it. 

"  Mother,"  said  he  to  the  quiet  woman 
rocking  to  and  fro  beside  the  stove,  "  I'm 
real  sorry  I  have  hurt  the  girls'  feelings 
so.  I  do  wish  they  did  not  look  so  com- 
mon, so —  I  don't  know  how  to  say  what 
I  mean :  but  now  I'm  off  to  the  store. 


252  PHIL   DERBY. 

Do,  mother,  try  and  make  the  peace  for 
me  before  I  come  in  to-night;"  and  with 
these  words  he  was  off. 

Sallie  was  in  the  kitchen  that  evening 
frying  pork  for  supper  when  she  heard 
her  brother's  footstep.  She  turned  her 
face  resolutely  toward  the  stove  and  began 
humming  the  tune  of  a  lively  little  song, 
"just  to  prove  to  Phil,"  was  her  hasty 
thought,  "  that  she  did  not  care  a  straw 
for  what  had  been  said."  Foolish  Sal- 
lie  !  it  was  the  very  way  to  show  that 
she  did  care.  Phil  came  behind  her 
with  a  quiet  smile  and  laid  a  parcel  on 
her  arm.  She  made  a  sudden  motion  to 
hinder  it  from  going  into  the  frying-pan  ; 
it  fell  instead  on  the  floor,  and  both 
brother  and  sister  stooped  at  the  same 
instant  to  pick  it  up.  Their  hands  met, 
and  then  their  eyes.  PhiPs  loving  smile 
brought  a  flush  of  shame  to  Sallie's  cheeks 
as  they  rose  with  the  bundle  between 
them. 

"  Let's  kiss  and  be  friends,"  said  he. 


QUESTIONS  OF  TASTE.  253 

At  the  moment  that  the  peace  was  thus 
concluded,  Lizzie  appeared  at  the  door 
with  a  pitcher  of  milk  for  which  she  had 
been  to  a  neighbour's  house.  One  glance 
showed  her  that  a  reconciliation  had 
taken  place,  and  that  was  not  at  all  to 
the  mind  of  the  still  indignant  Lizzie. 

"  Humph !"  said  she,  in  a  sneering 
tone,  as  she  placed  her  pitcher  on  the 
table. 

"  Come,"  called  Phil,  who  had  in  his 
hand  the  yet  unopened  bundle — "  come ! 
I  want  you  and  Sallie  both  to  look  at 
your  new  dresses  and  tell  me  how  you 
like  them." 

"Our  new  dresses!"  both  exclaimed; 
and  Sallie,  dropping  the  fork  she  had 
held,  flung  her  arms  around  her  brother's 
neck.  "  Oh,  Phil,  I  am  so  sorry !"  was 
all  she  could  say.  Lizzie  eagerly  untied 
the  string  and  revealed  two  dress  pat- 
terns of  some  soft  gray  material. 

"Do  you  like  it,  girls?"  Phil  asked, 
with  some  anxiety.  "  If  you  do  not,  I 

22 


254  PHIL   DERRY. 

can  change  it  for  some  fine  plaid  there 
is  at  the  store." 

"  Oh,  it  is  beautiful  I"  cried  Sallie. 
"  How  good  you  are !" 

Lizzie  said  to  herself  that  the  bright 
plaid  would  have  been  far  more  becom- 
ing to  her  complexion  than  such  a  sober, 
old-womanish  colour,  but  her  spoken 
comment  was : 

"  You  are  really  very  good,  Phil,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  the  saucy  things  we  said." 

So  peace  was  restored,  and  for  some 
days  Miss  Pinkham  was  more  in  demand 
than  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  BREAKING   UP. 

N  due  time  another  letter  came 
from  Millville.  It  gave  a  hearty 
repetition  of  the  invitation  pre- 
viously extended,  expressed  a  cor- 
dial desire  that  Mrs.  Derry  and  her 
daughters  should  start  eastward  without 
delay,  and,  which  was  most  important, 
contained  a  cheque  for  an  amount  amply 
sufficient  to  cover  the  expenses  of  the 
long  journey.  Sam  had  already  gone 
with  his  companions  to  the  mines,  from 
whence  he  expected  to  dig  the  fortune 
he  desired.  The  miserable  house  for  so 
many  years  their  home  was  sold,  the  fur- 
niture had  been  put  up  at  auction,  and 
only  a  few  necessary  articles,  kindly  left 
by  the  new  owners  for  the  use  of  the 

255 


256  PHIL   DERRY. 

family  until  they  set  out,  remained  in 
the  desolate  rooms.  It  was  a  sad  break- 
ing up  for  Phil.  Even  though  he  had 
never  had  much  happiness  there,  and 
until  the  great  change  took  place  in  his 
mother  no  sympathy,  yet  it  was  home, 
and  he  had  no  other  on  the  face  of  the 
earth. 

At  last  the  important  day  arrived. 
Sallie  and  Lizzie,  neatly  dressed,  went 
early  to  the  station,  where  several  young 
friends  had  agreed  to  meet  them.  Phil 
had  borrowed  a  wagon  in  which  to  take 
his  mother,  and  was  glad  to  have  her  to 
himself  for  a  little  while  for  a  last  talk 
on  the  subject  now  so  dear  to  them  both, 
the  hope  and  joy  of  the  Christian. 

"  You'll  be  sure  and  write  as  often  as 
you  can,  my  son  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Derry 
as  they  stood  on  the  platform  waiting  for 
the  train. 

"  I  will  indeed,"  was  the  prompt  assur- 
ance, given  with  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand.  "  I  hope  soon  to  tell  you  that  my 


THE   BREAKING   UP.  257 

real  work  is  begun  and  that  the  Lord  is 
prospering  my  labours." 

"  Take  good  care  of  mother,  girls,  and 
may  God  bless  you  all !"  were  his  hur- 
ried words  as  the  train  began  to  move. 
The  merry  girls  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs from  the  window.  Phil  stood  and 
watched  until  the  last  car  was  only  a 
speck  in  the  distance,  then  turned  on  his 
heel  with  a  sigh  for  the  close  of  another 
chapter  of  life's  history,  and  went  about 
his  day's  work.  Weighing,  measuring, 
answering  questions,  pulling  down  and 
putting  up  dry  goods — what  trivial  busi- 
ness it  seemed  with  one's  heart  full  of 
yearning  for  nobler  labour !  Ah !  but  was 
not  all  this  part  of  that  great  lesson  of 
patient  waiting  which  comes  in  God's 
primer  and  must  be  learned  thoroughly 
by  all  who  are  taught  of  him  ? 

The  platform  had  been  full  of  people 
who  came  to  see  the  Derrys  off.  They 
were  old  residents,  according  to  the  reck- 
oning of  that  Western  town.  They  had 
22*  R 


258  PHIL    DERRY. 

come  to  Eagle ville  in  its  infancy,  and  the 
young  folks  had  grown  with  the  growth 
of  the  place.  They  had  of  late  years 
had  no  important  part  to  play  in  public 
affairs,  and  yet  all  agreed,  as  they  stood 
in  knots  of  twos  and  threes  discussing 
matters,  that  the  Derrys  would  be  greatly 
missed  in  the  community.  The  young 
girls  envied  Sallie  and  Lizzie.  It  was  a 
fine  thing,  they  said,  to  have  a  parcel  of 
new  clothes  to  start  on  a  long  journey, 
and  to  go  to  an  aunt  who  would  give 
them  everything  they  wanted.  Never 
before  had  anything  come  in  the  lot  of 
the  Derry  girls  to  make  them  objects  of 
admiration  and  envy.  They  were  con- 
scious of  it  to-day,  and  enjoyed  it. 

"  Did  you  notice,"  asked  Sallie  of  her 
sister  as  they  whirled  along,  "  how  Abby 
Carter  kept  her  eyes  on  my  hat  ?  She'll 
go  right  home  and  try  to  trim  up  her 
old  one  like  it ;  you'll  see  if  she  don't." 

"  No,  it  isn't  .likely  I  shall  see  that  or 
any  other  hat  that  Abby  Carter  wears 


THE   BREAKING  UP.  259 

after  this.      Oh,  but  isn't  it  fun  to  be 
going  away  for  ever  from  old  Eagle ville  ?" 

"  I'm  glad,"  answered  Sallie,  "  and  yet 
I  can't  help  feeling  a  little  bit  sorry. 
We've  had  some  good  times,  I'm  sure, 
and  they're  a  real  pleasant  set,  those 
Eagleville  girls.  They  say  Eastern  folks 
are  so  prim  and  particular.  Maybe  the 
Mill  ville  girls  will  be  too  proud  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  us." 

"  Yes,  maybe,"  said  her  sister,  absently. 
She  was  still  thinking  with  pleasure  of 
the  admiring  looks  given  their  nice 
clothes  that  morning,  and  of  the  differ- 
ent ones  who  had  said  they  wished  they 
were  going  too. 

"  Ah,  girls !"  was  Mrs.  Derry's  quiet 
comment,  "  you  are  too  ready  to  rejoice 
over  leaving  your  old  home.  Do  not 
despise  it  now,  for  you  may  one  of  these 
days  wish  to  be  back  in  it  again,  dull  as 
it  seems." 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Derry  was  thinking  of 
her  own  girlhood,  the  eagerness  with 


260  PHIL   DERRY. 

which  she  h#d  cast  aside  the  old  quiet 
life  on  her  father's  farm  to  go  with  her 
young  husband  in  search  of  a  gilded  for- 
tune in  the  far  West,  which,  alas !  she 
had  never  found.  Like  Naomi,  she 
might  now  say  that  she  had  gone  out 
full  and  she  returned  empty.  No  won- 
der that  she  did  not  wish  her  daughters 
to  pass  through  an  experience  like  her 
own. 

"  Oh  my !"  exclaimed  a  woman  occu- 
pying the  seat  directly  in  front  of  Mrs. 
Derry.  "  There  goes  my  veil !  Would 
you  please  pick  it  up  for  me,  ma'am? 
It's  right  down  there  by  you." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  was  the  grave  answer. 
"  I  cannot  see  your  veil,  for  I  am  blind." 

"Blind!  Why,  you  don't  say  so?" 
exclaimed  the  lively  fellow-passenger,  in 
a  cheery  voice.  "  Oh,  well,  there's  won- 
derful cures  in  these  days  for  all  sorts 
of  ailments.  There's  doctors  on  East, 
plenty  of  'em,  that  spend  all  their  time 
on  eye  diseases — oculists  they  are  called. 


THE   BEEAKING  UP.  261 

How  far  are  you  going  ?  Right  through 
to  New  York,  maybe  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Derry,  "  we  are 
going  to  Millville,  and  we  have  to  stop  a 
a  few  hours  in  New  York,  I  believe." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  kind- 
hearted  woman,  "I'll  tell  you  what.  I 
am  going  to  my  nephew's — that's  Mr. 
Isaac  Smith's ;  he  is  a  tailor  and  has  a 
splendid  clothing  store — that  is,  his  boss 
has,  and  it's  all  the  same  thing.  I  sup- 
pose Isaac  is  making  money  by  the 
handful;  all  those  New  York  folks  do, 
I  expect.  Now,  if  you  will  go  with  me 
to  his  house,  I'm  pretty  sure  Isaac  can 
tell  us  where  to  find  one  of  them  'ere  ocu- 
lists ;  maybe  he  can  take  time  to  go  with 
you  himself,  and  we'll  have  your  eyes  as 
good  as  new." 

The  speaker  nodded  her  head  and 
winked  at  the  girls,  as  if  quite  sure  of 
their  sympathy  in  her  plan,  then,  lean- 
ing over  the  back  of  the  seat,  caught  Mrs. 
Derry 's  hand  and  gave  it  a  hearty  squeeze, 


262  PHIL   DERBY. 

shouting  in  her  ear  as  if  she  were  deaf  as 
well  as  blind, 

"  Yes,  you  just  come  along  with  me  to 
Isaac's,  and  we'll  soon  have  your  eyes  as 
good  as  new." 

Mrs.  Derry  gave  a  sigh  and  a  smile 
for  answer,  and  paused  to  consider  wheth- 
er or  not  it  was  worth  while  to  tell  her 
new  friend  how  hopeless  she  really  felt, 
about  any  improvement  of  her  condition, 
when  Lizzie  interrupted  with : 

"  We're  much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am, 
of  course,  but  we  are  going  directly  on  to 
Millville,  and  can't  spare  time  to  go  to 
your  nephew's.  Our  aunt  in  Millville  is 
very  rich ;  we  are  going  to  live  with  her ; 
and  if  she  thinks  it  will  do  any  good,  she 
will  send  for  one  of  the  New  York  doc- 
tors to  come  on  and  examine  ma's  eyes." 

This  speech  was  made  in  a  loud  voice 
which  caused  nearly  everybody  in  the  car 
to  turn  and  look  at  the  group.  This  was 
exactly  what  Lizzie,  full  of  her  new  glory, 
desired.  Good  clothes,  a  journey,  a  rich 


THE   BREAKING  UP.  263 

aunt, — these  were  all  so  important  in  the 
girl's  eyes  that  she  could  not  let  pass  an 
opportunity  of  making  herself  known  as 
the  fortunate  possessor. 

"Hs-s-sh,"  whispered  Sallie,  pinching 
her  sister's  arm  to  enforce  silence,  while 
the  friendly  adviser  in  the  next  seat 
turned  away,  feeling  not  a  little  hurt  at 
the  manner  in  which  her  kind  offers  were 
rejected.  Quiet  Mrs.  Derry  said  nothing 
at  the  moment,  but  she  sought  an  oppor- 
tunity before  the  day  closed  of  thanking 
the  good  woman,  and  at  the  same  time 
telling  her  the  cause  of  her  misfortune 
and  how  little  prospect  there  was  of  her 
recovering  her  sight. 

The  two  girls  did  not  look  with  much 
favour  upon  their  mother's  acquaintance 
with  a  person  so  commonplace;  they 
were  sure  Aunt  Hannah  would  not  ap- 
prove. It  was  a  very  different  matter 
when  they  lived  in  Eagleville ;  now  they 
must  be  more  particular  about  the  com- 
pany they  kept.  It  was  a  relief  to  them 


264  PHIL  DEEBY. 

both  when,  amid  the  confusion  at  the 
New  York  de*p6t,  they  got  separated 
from  their  fellow-traveller.  The  last 
glimpse  they  had  of  her  was  as  she  stood 
at  the  edge  of  a  crowded  crossing,  mak- 
ing signals  to  different  omnibus-drivers, 
and  calling  out  hoarsely  her  question  of 
which  of  them  passed  nearest  the  cloth- 
ing store  where  Isaac  Smith  worked. 

At  last  the  wearisome  railroad  journey 
was  accomplished,  and  late  one  rainy 
evening  the  travellers  heard  the  conduc- 
tor call  out  the  welcome  word  "  Mill- 
ville."  Into  the  dull  little  waiting-room 
they  went,  and  sat  there,  Mrs.  Derry 
quiet  and  patient  as  usual,  and  the  two 
girls  cross  and  disappointed.  It  takes 
very  cheerful  hearts  or  very  bright  hopes 
to  make  endurable  the  railroad  station 
of  a  small  town,  especially  on  a  rainy 
evening.  Half  an  hour  passed,  and  no 
Aunt  Hannah  appeared  to  claim  her 
guests.  Lizzie  said  her  head  ached,  and 
began  to  cry ;  Sallie  drew  out  a  very  dry 


THE  BREAKING   UP.  265 

sandwich  from  the  luncheon-basket,  and 
set  herself  to  eat  and  to  grumble.  Things 
appeared  sadly  different  now  from  the 
pictures  fancy  had  drawn  over  and  over 
again  of  this  very  hour.  All  things, 
however  disagreeable,  come  to  an  end ; 
so  did  the  period  of  waiting  at  the  Mill- 
ville  station.  The  door  swung  open  at 
last,  and  a  respectable  middle-aged  man 
entered.  This  proved  to  be  Jacob,  Mrs. 
Goodwin's  hired  man.  He  begged  par- 
don for  keeping  the  travellers  waiting  so 
long,  but  said,  by  way  of  apology,  that 
the  roads  were  so  bad  that  he  had  been 
obliged  to  walk  the  horses  most  of  the 
way.  Mrs.  Goodwin  had  intended  com- 
ing in  to  meet  her  friends  in  person,  but 
was  so  troubled  with  rheumatism  that  she 
did  not  dare  ride  in  the  rain. 

"  How  far  from  town  is  the  house  ?" 
asked  Sallie,  with  restored  animation. 

"  Only  a  mile  or  thereabouts.  We'd 
get  there  in  less'n  no  time,  miss,  if 
'twarn't  for  the  state  of  the  roads." 

23 


266  PHIL   DERRY. 

Jacob  busied  himself  with  the -baggage, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  whole  party 
were  seated  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's  comfort- 
able carriage,  slowly  moving  along  in  the 
darkness  and  rain  toward  their  new  home. 
Sallie  leaned  her  head  back  among  the 
cushions  with  a  smiling  face.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  had  been  called 
"  Miss."  Jacob,  as  he  sat  there  in  front, 
wholly  intent  on  guiding  his  horses  safely 
through  the  bad  places,  little  knew  what 
real  delight  he  had  given  to  one  of  his 
mistress's  guests  by  a  single  word.  Nor 
can  any  reader  understand  the  pleasure 
this  Western  girl  felt  in  the  common  title, 
unless  it  be  one  who,  like  Sallie  herself, 
has  always  lived  in  one  neighbourhood 
with  people  who  were  on  too  friendly  a 
footing  for  such  formality. 

Sallie's  meditations  were  checked  by 
a  sudden  halt  as  Jacob  jumped  down  to 
open  a  gate,  and  in  a  moment  more  the 
carriage  stood  before  a  large  white-paint- 
ed house  with  broad  piazza  and  an  open 


THE   BREAKING   UP  267 

door,  through  which  her  eager  eyes 
caught  a  gleam  of  a  glowing  fire  and 
lamplight.  Jacob  helped  his  passengers 
to  alight,  taking  Mrs.  Derry  first  and 
gently  leading  her  up  the  steps  to  the 
door,  where  now  a  plump  little  woman 
stood  with  outstretched  arms  to  welcome 
the  strange  sister-in-law. 

Two  hours  later  the  sisters  were  alone 
together  in  the  room  which  Aunt  Han- 
nah told  them  was  to  be  their  own  for  the 
future.  They  prepared  for  bed,  but  were 
too  full  of  wonder  and  excitement  to 
close  their  eyes  until  they  had  talked 
over  their  first  impressions.  Lizzie,  who 
had  forgotten  her  headache  entirely, 
frisked  around  the  room  examining 
everything.  "  All  these  bureau  drawers 
are  empty,"  said  she ;  "  that  means  that 
we  are  to  put  our  things  in  them.  You 
can  take  the  top  one,  Sal,  and  I'll  have 
the  two  under  ones.  No,  we'll  divide  the 
top  one,  and  each  have  one  of  the  lower 
ones ;  that  will  be  fair.  See  what  a  big 


268  PHIL  DEERY. 

closet !"  she  exclaimed,  a  moment  after. 
"  We  haven't  got  near  clothes  enough  to 
hang  on  all  those  hooks,  eh,  Sallie?" 

Sallie  sat  dreamily  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  imbraiding  her  long  hair,  but  started 
up  at  her  sister's  remark.  "  No,  we  have 
not  many  clothes  now,  to  be  sure,  but 
Aunt  Hannah  will  get  us  some  right  off, 
I  guess.  But — "  she  added,  and  then 
paused.  "  Did  you  notice  what  an  old- 
fashioned  collar  she  wore,  and  the  plain 
way  her  dress  was  made  ?  Why,  Lizzie, 
I  begin  to  be  afraid  Aunt  Hannah's  real 
mean.  To  think  of  anybody  with  plenty 
of  money  wearing  such  a  dress  as  that !" 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Lizzie,  "  but  I 
don't  believe  she  is  mean.  Everything 
is  so  comfortable  here;  and  just  think 
what  a  supper  we  had !  How  kind  she  is 
to  ma,  too!" 

"  Humph !"  drawled  Sallie,  in  a  tone 
of  discontent;  "that's  good,  so  far  as  it 
goes.  Hurry  into  bed,  Lizzie  Derry;  I'm 
as  sleepy  as  can  be." 


THE  BREAKING   UP.  269 

Good,  sensible  Aunt  Hannah  !  Little 
dreamed  she  as  she  went  to  rest  that 
night,  thanking  Him  who  "setteth  the 
solitary  in  families  "  that  he  had  brought 
to  her  lonely  home  a  sister  and  children, 
of  the  foolish  anticipations  and  unreason- 
able demands  of  those  young  girls.  Hers 
was  a  busy  life.  She  was  looking  forward 
with  pleasure  to  their  help  in  the  dairy, 
their  interest  in  the  garden  and  in  all  the 
manifold  details  of  life  on  a  large  farm. 
To  read  and  sew,  to  ride  to  church  on 
Sundays  and  to  visit  the  neighbours 
through  the  week,  to  make  jellies  and 
broth  for  the  sick  folks  and  do  fancy- 
work  for  the  yearly  fair,  was  the  routine 
of  pleasures  she  had  considered  on  be- 
half of  her  nieces  without  a  doubt  of 
their  satisfaction  with  such  a  programme. 
Alas  for  Aunt  Hannah!  and  alas  for 
Sallie  and  Lizzie !  All  were  disappointed. 
From  the  poverty  and  gloom  of  their 
Western  life  these  girls  had  looked  for- 
ward, as  we  know,  to  the  East  in  general, 

23  » 


270  PHIL,  DERRY. 

and  Aunt  Hannah's  home  in  particular, 
very  much  as  the  spectators  in  a  dark- 
ened hall  view  a  brilliant  panorama; 
they  look  only  at  the  light  and  colour  in 
front,  heedless  of  the  gloom  in  which 
they  stand. 

Years,  added  experience,  and,  above  all, 
the  grace  of  God,  brought  to  Sallie  and 
Lizzie  both  wisdom  and  contentment,  so 
that,  after  all,  they  became  industrious, 
kind,  helpful  Christian  women,  and  Mrs. 
Berry's  declining  years  were  cheered  by 
such  dutiful  attentions  and  loving  care  as 
she  had  never  dared  hope  for  from  the 
daughters  she  had  scolded  and  neglected 
during  their  childhood. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  FRESHET. 

LEGG  HOLE  was  in  trouble.  All 
day  and  all  night  the  men  had 
watched  the  steady  rise  of  the 
river,  swollen  as  it  was  by  the 
spring  rains  and  the  water  pouring  down 
from  the  hills  beyond.  Every  possible 
precaution  had  been  taken,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. Toward  the  dawn  of  the  second 
day  of  this  suspense,  men  who  were  wont 
to  be  at  that  hour  sleeping  off  the  effects 
of  the  night's  carousal  stood  in  little 
groups  at  the  water's  edge  gloomily  dis- 
cussing the  probabilities.  Women  and 
children  were  in  the  houses,  either  drow- 
sily awaiting  the  warning  which  was  sure 
to  come  before  long,  or  else  busily  mov- 
ing their  possessions  to  the  upper  rooms. 
When  the  first  ruddy  streaks  of  morning 

271 


272  PHIL   DERRY. 

appeared  on  the  horizon,  the  dreaded 
words  were  shouted,  "The  flood  has 
come !"  All  sorts  of  cries  filled  the  air ; 
men  swore,  women  screamed,  all  hurried 
to  the  scene  of  calamity.  There  were  a 
few  shanties  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
river;  these  were  carried  away  by  the 
swift  current  as  if  they  had  been  chil- 
dren's toys.  Nobody  thought  much  of 
the  loss,  except,  indeed,  the  poor  owners, 
to  whom  the  shanties  had  been  homes 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  pitiless  stream, 
and  now  Squire  Buck's  garden  was  sub- 
merged, now  John  Larkin's  pigs  were 
floating  rapidly  down.  The  excitement 
and  terror  increased  every  moment.  Here 
was  trouble  indeed ;  human  power  could 
do  nothing,  and  divine  power — who  in 
Clegg  Hole  thought  about  that  ?  Stead- 
ily rose  the  water.  In  a  few  hours  the 
cellars  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town  were 
filled ;  as  the  afternoon  waned  there  was 
a  general  rush  of  people  toward  the  few 
dwellings  that  stood  high  enough  to 


THE  FRESHET.  273 

promise  a  chance  of  safety  for  the  night. 
Men  and  boys  worked  courageously ;  the 
need  of  one  was  the  need  of  all.  Those 
who  two  days  before  had  thought  no 
words  hard  enough  to  speak  to  one  an- 
other, those  who  had  struck  each  other 
in  more  than  one  drunken  brawl,  now 
worked  with  sober  energy  side  by  side, 
and  in  each  other's  behalf.  A  common 
trouble  was  bringing  to  light  all  the  good 
that  was  latent  in  the  hearts  of  the  men 
of  Clegg  Holer  The  following  day 
dawned  on  a  scene  of  desolation.  On  the 
great  waste  of  water  not  only  portions 
of  buildings,  but  horses,  cows,  and  other 
animals,  were  rapidly  floating  down,  and 
people  whispered  in  awestruck  tones 
about  Ned  Ferrar's  two  little  girls, 
who  were  yesterday  noon  seen  hand  in 
hand  struggling  from  amid  the  remains 
of  their  lost  home,  and  then  had  sud- 
denly vanished,  no  one  could  tell  where. 
Sukey  Stokes,  the  landlord's  wife,  who  had 
been  ill  in  bed  for  some  weeks,  was  roused 

3 


274  PHIL   DERBY. 

to  flee  from  imminent  danger,  and  through 
fright  and  exposure  had  become  suddenly 
worse — was  dying  it  was  said.  There  were 
other  sad  tales — nearly  every  family  had 
one  to  tell ;  and  sorrows  which  changed 
black  hair  to  white  and  young  hearts  to 
old  made  memorable  "that  one  terrible 
night  at  Clegg  Hole. 

In  the  midst  of  such  confusion  and 
excitement  few  took  notice  as  to  who  did 
this  or  that ;  indeed,  through  the  dark- 
ness of  night  it  was  impossible  to  distin- 
guish friend  from  stranger.  There  was, 
however,  in  more  than  one  scene  of  trou- 
ble a  consciousness  of  a  pair  of  strong 
arms  helping  to  save  the  weak,  the  recog- 
nition of  a  brave  heart  and  a  clear  head 
where  a  moment's  hesitation  would  have 
lost  all.  Nobody  took  time  to  ask,  or 
even  to  wonder,  from  whom  the  assist- 
ance came.  Human  eyes  never  saw, 
human  ears  never  heard,  how  a  six 
months'  old  baby  was  saved  from  drown- 
ing by  the  only  one  who  saw  and  heeded 


THE   FRESHET.  275 

its  danger;  nobody  ever  suspected  how 
poor  old  Mrs.  Green's  furniture  was 
moved  in  safety  from  her  shattered  dwell- 
ing and  restored  to  her  without  even  a 
scratch  on  the  wood. 

At  last  the  water  subsided ;  the  terror 
was  past.  People  began  collecting  the 
remnants  of  their  property  and  repair- 
ing damages.  Some  there  were,  indeed, 
whose  damages  could  not  be  repaired  in 
this  life.  Ned  Ferrar  and  his  wife,  car- 
ing little  for  the  destruction  of  their 
house,  wept  bitterly  for  their  lost  chil- 
dren, and  Stokes,  the  landlord,  stood  by 
the  bedside  of  his  dying  wife. 

A  funeral  in  Clegg  Hole  was  always  a 
simple  and  hurried  affair.  The  body 
was  placed  in  a  rude  coffin,  then  the 
friends  were  called  together  to  take  a 
last  look  and  assist  in  placing  it  in  the 
grave ;  that  was  all.  The  ceremonies  of 
hearse  and  carriages,  of  mourning  clothes, 
closed  windows,  and  black  draperies,  were 
certainly  unknown  in  that  half-civilized 


276  PHIL   DERRY. 

settlement.  No  funeral  service  had  ever 
been  held,  no  funeral  sermon  had  ever 
been  preached,  in  Clegg  Hole. 

One  morning  a  crowd  of  people  filled 
the  large  room  of  the  tavern.  There  all 
that  was  mortal  of  Sukey  Stokes  lay  de- 
cently prepared  for  burial ;  the  landlord 
had  called  together  his  friends  to  assist 
him  in  the  last  sad  service  to  be  per- 
formed for  his  faithful  wife.  There  were 
a  good  many  groans,  a  good  deal  of  loud 
talking,  and  some  crying ;  then  Stokes 
beckoned  to  two  or  three  men  to  help  him 
in  fastening  the  coffin-lid,  after  which 
they  were  to  move  to  the  graveyard. 
Some  one  in  the  crowd  behind  him 
touched  the  bereaved  husband  on  the 
shoulder  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 
Stokes  nodded  assent,  but  the  look  of 
bewilderment  on  his  face  would  have 
been  amusing  under  other  circumstances. 
People  were  silent  for  a  moment  with 
curiosity  ;  amid  that  moment's  hush  rose 
a  strong,  earnest  voice  unrecognized  by 


THE    FRESHET.  277 

any  in  the  crowd.  "  Let  us  pray."  The 
speaker  fell  on  his  knees.  Stokes  knelt 
also,  and  then,  moved  by  an  impulse  they 
did  not  understand,  the  entire  company 
silently  followed  that  strange  example. 
A  simple  prayer  was  spoken ;  it  was  not 
composed  of  hard  words,  it  was  only  the 
crying  out  of  a  trusting  child  of  God  to 
his  heavenly  Father  for  wisdom  and 
comfort  according  to  the  need  of  the 
hour.  When  the  voice  ceased,  two  or 
three  muffled  "  Amens"  were  heard,  and 
one  man  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  called 
out,  "  Go  on,  stranger !"  Perhaps  the 
stranger  did  not  hear ;  at  any  rate,  he  did 
not  "go  on."  People  rose  from  their 
knees,  and  the  procession  was  quietly 
formed  to  accompany  the  body  of  Sukey 
Stokes  to  its  last  resting-place. 

The  landlord  stood  alone  next  morn- 
in  his  barroom.  People  had  too  much 
work  to  do  in  repairing  the  damage 
caused  by  the  freshet  to  spare  time  for 
drinking,  and  even  the  idle  loungers  who 

24 


278  PHIL   DERRY. 

cannot  by  any  calamity  be  driven  to  work 
had  enough  respect  for  his  grief  to  make 
them  absent  themselves  from  his  house 
for  this  one  day  at  least.  Stokes  stood 
alone,  therefore,  and  was  idly  drumming 
on  the  counter,  his  thoughts  meanwhile 
reaching  far  back  into  the  past  and  bring- 
ing up  one  memory  after  another  of  his 
lost  wife,  whom  in  his  own  rough  way 
he  had  really  loved.  He  was  startled 
from  his  reverie  by  the  click  of  the  door- 
latch.  He  ceased  drumming  on  the 
counter,  turned  around,  and  before  he 
had  fairly  brought  his  mind  back  to  the 
present  his  hand  was  seized  in  the  cor- 
dial grasp  of  the  tall  young  man  who 
had  yesterday  taken  Clegg  Hole  by  sur- 
prise with  the  words.  "  Let  us  pray." 

"  You  don't  remember  me,  Mr. Stokes?" 
asked  the  stranger,  still  holding  his  hand. 

The  landlord  looked  steadily  in  the 
face  before  him. 

"Remember  you?  No,"  said  he, 
slowly ;  then,  with  a  glance  of  doubt  and 


"  You  don't  remember  me,  Mr.  Stokes?"  p.  278. 


THE   FEESHET.  279 

inquiry,  he  added,  "If  it  wasn't  for — 
But  no ;  it  can't  be  so,  of  course."  The 
dawn  of  recognition  passed  from  his 
countenance  as  he  spoke. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  what  ?  What  then  ?" 
persisted  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  will  have  it,  there's 
a  something  about  you  that  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  lodger  I  once  had.  It  was  a 
youngster  that  came  along  with  a  picture 
concern.  He  gambled  and  lost  I  don't 
know  how  much  money,  and  his  boss 
had  to  pay  up.  That  made  the  fellow 
so  mad  that  he  run  off  and  left  the  good- 
for-nothing  boy  .sick  on  my  hands.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  my  wife  that's  dead 
and  gone  now,  I'd  have  turned  him  out 
of  the  house  in  no  time." 

"  So  I  look  like  your  '  good-for-noth- 
ing' lodger,  do  I?"  the  stranger  asked, 
with  a  queer  smile  twitching  the  corners 
of  his  mouth. 

"  Don't  be  offended,  sir.  I  know  it's 
no  compliment  to  a  gentleman — a  par- 


280  PHIL   DEERY. 

son  or  something  of  that  sort  I  take  you 
to  be,  eh  ? — but  there  actually  is  a  look 
about  you  that  reminds  me  of  that  scape- 
grace. Of  course  it's  just  my  fancy,  and 
you  won't  take  offence  where  none  is 
meant." 

"  Certainly  not.  Do  you  happen  to 
remember  the  name  of  the  poor  fellow 
you  speak  of?" 

"  It  was —  Hem-m-m !  my  memory 
ain't  so  good  as  it  used  to  be,  and  I 
always  depended  so  on  Sukey — that's  my 
poor  wife — to  keep  me  straight  on  names 
and  such.  It  was  '  Derby,'  '  Darby,'  or 
some  such  name.  'Jim  Darby,'  we'll 
say,  for  convenience.  I  take  it  you 
wouldn't  be  any  the  wiser  even  if  I  hit 
it  just  right.  It  is  not  likely  such  a 
one  as  he  ever  crossed  your  path." 

"  Suppose  I  give  a  guess  at  the  boy's 
name,  Mr.  Stokes.  Does  '  Philip  Derry ' 
come  anywhere  near  it  ?" 

The  stranger  spoke  with  a  serious 
smile,  and  Stokes,  all  at  once  aware  of 


THE   FRESHET.  281 

the  secret  of  the  resemblance  he  had  fan- 
cied, started  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  You  don't  mean  it  ?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Now,  don't  be  angry  at  what  I  said, 
you  know  yourself  things  did  look  kind 
of  bad ;  and  if  I  was  a  bit  sharp  with 
you,  'twas  only  a  natural  lookout  for  my 
own  interest.  Sukey,  poor  soul !  she  did 
take  to  you  wonderful.  '  Philip  Derry  !' 
Yes,  it  was  '  Phil  Derry,'  sure  enough. 
How  on  earth,  I  want  to  know,  was  a 
man  to  know  a  gentleman  like  you  was 
one  and  the  same  as  that  little  scoundrel 
'  Phil  Derry '  ?  There !  I've  gone  and 
done  it  again !"  said  poor  Stokes,  in  de- 
spair. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  afraid  of  hurting 
my  feelings,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  Your 
description  of  me  is  a  very  true  one. 
I  was  a  young  scapegrace  indeed ;  I  am 
not  nearly  as  good  as  I  ought  to  be  yet." 

"  Ah !  I  remember  now  how  it  was," 
said  Stokes  as  he  gradually  recalled  the 
facts  associated  with  his  unwelcome  guest 


24* 


282  PHIL   DERBY. 

of  several  years  before.  "  You  got  well 
and  went  off  with  that  Mr.  Williston,  the 
Sunday-school  man.  I  thought  he  was 
a  great  fool  to  burden  himself  with  a 
sickly  good-for —  Ahem !"  coughed  poor 
Stokes,  who  gave  up  in  despair  of  keep- 
ing on  the  conversation  any  longer,  so 
repeatedly  did  he  have  occasion  to  check 
himself. 

"  If  you'll  let  me  go  in  the  other  room 
and  sit  down  with  you  a  while,  Mr.  Stokes, 
I  will  tell  you  my  story." 

Phil  had  all  this  time  been  standing 
between  the  door  and  the  counter,  and  the 
landlord  had  not  once  thought  of  offer- 
ing him  a  seat.  Poor  man !  what  with 
his  great  trouble  fresh  on  his  mind  and 
his  extreme  surprise  at  discovering  his 
stranger  guest's  identity  with  the  unfor- 
tunate "Phil  Derry,"  he  was  hardly 
accountable  for  his  failure  in  hospitality. 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  exclaimed  he,  when 
the  narrator  had  finished  his  simple  ac- 
count of  the  ways  in  which  God  had  led 


THE   FRESHET.  283 

him ;  "  it  is  queer  how  things  do  turn  out. 
My  poor  Sukey  always  had  a  good  word 
for  you,  spite  of  your  bad  ways.  A  real 
sensible  woman  my  Sukey  was,  and  she 
was  right,  after  all.  Well,  well,  well!" 
he  repeated,  after  a  pause,  in  which  Phil 
took  his  hat  and  rose  to  go;  "only  to 
think  of  that  young  scoun — ahem ! — turn- 
ing out  a  missionary !" 


CHAPTEE    XXV. 

A  SINGING-SCHOOL. 

f  O  much  work  was  going  on  in  Clegg 
Hole  during  the  days  succeeding 
the  freshet  that  our  young  mission- 
ary felt  that  to  appoint  a  meet- 
ing would  be  worse  than  useless.  When 
the  multitude  suffered  with  hunger,  the 
Lord  Jesus  did  not  keep  on  preaching, 
but  provided  a  hearty  meal  for  them. 
Phil,  being  himself  a  Western  lad,  knew 
that  this  blessed  example  of  care  for  men's 
natural  wants  was  the  very  best  method  to 
take  with  common  Western  people.  He 
was  busy  as  the  busiest,  now  helping  to 
clear  away  heaps  of  rubbish,  now  lend- 
ing a  hand  at  repairing  a  roof,  and  ready 
at  any  moment  to  speak  a  word  of  cheer 
to  the  poor  creatures  who  had  lost  their 

284 


A    SINGING-SCHOOL.  285 

all.  He  did  not  speak  of  religion  yet. 
There  is  always  a  way  to  be  prepared  for 
the  coming  of  Jesus,  and  the  John  Bap- 
tists of  the  present  day  have  need  of 
much  loving  wisdom.  The  stranger  began 
to  be  talked  about  as  a  "  regular  brick," 
"a  chap  of  the  right  sort,"  while  more 
than  one  female  voice  echoed  the  com- 
pliment given  Phil  years  before  by  Mrs. 
Mercy  Striker,  "A'most  as  good  as  a 
woman." 

One  noon,  leaving  the  house  where  he 
had  been  invited  to  take  dinner,  Phil 
lingered  at  the  gate,  undecided  as  to  what 
direction  to  take  and  to  whom  to  offer  his 
services  for  the  afternoon.  Busy  with  his 
thoughts,  he  began  unconsciously  to  sing 
the  first  verse  of  the  old  hymn : 

"  How  happy  are  they 

Who  the  Saviour  obey, 
And  have  laid  up  their  treasures  above !" 

Now,  a  good  hymn  tune,  as  everybody 
knows,  is  to  children's  ears  very  much 
what  a  lump  of  sugar  is  to  a  swarm  of 


286  PHIL   DERRY. 

flies,  and  draws  them  to  a  certain  point 
about  as  quickly.  The  strong,  full  voice 
rung  out  those  joyous  words  with  a  bold 
assurance  which  told  plainly  that  they 
expressed  the  singer's  own  experience. 
As  he  began  the  third  verse  he  became 
aware  of  a  rather  shrill  voice  not  far  off 
trying  to  follow  the  tune.  At  the  back 
door  of  the  next  house  stood  a  little  girl, 
barefoot  and  dressed  in  a  much  soiled, 
much  patched  pink  calico  frock,  with  her 
hands  clasped  above  her  head,  evidently 
unconscious  of  everything  but  the  music. 
She  started  like  a  frightened  animal  when 
Phil  paused  in  his  hymn  and  called  out : 

"  If  you'll  come  here,  Molly,  I'll  teach 
you  the  words." 

No  answer  was  given,  but  before  Phil 
reached  the  end  of  the  verse,  he  heard  a 
faint  rustle  behind  him,  and  looking 
around  saw  shy  Molly  hand  in  hand 
with  her  elder  sister,  while  another  girl 
in  a  big  brown  sunbonnet  was  running: 

o  o 

across  the  yard  to  join  them. 


A   SINGING-SCHOOL.  287 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a 
pleasant  tone,  "  you  girls  are  fond  of  sing- 
ing, it  seems." 

"  I  reckon  so,"  responded  the  older 
sister. 

"  I'll  teach  you  that  hymn,  then,  words 
and  tune  both,  if  you  like." 

"  Come  on  then,"  said  the  big  girl. 
"  There's  a  good  place  to  sit  down  over  on 
the  edge  of  the  woods  there.  Let's  go." 

Phil  obeyed  his  ready  scholar,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  four  were  seated  in  a 
pleasant  spot  repeating  line  by  line  the 
familiar  words.  Then  came  the  tune. 
The  monotonous  drawl  of  these  three 
uncultivated  voices  might  have  annoyed 
a  fastidious  ear ;  but  as  their  teacher  cared 
less  for  the  music  they  were  to  learn  than 
the  blessed  truth  expressed  in  it,  their 
mistakes  troubled  him  not  a  bit. 

"  Humph !  can't  do  no  better  than 
that,  eh  ?" 

The  girls  gave  a  faint  scream  of  sur- 
prise at  the  interruption,  and  looking 


288  PHIL   DEKRY. 

backward  among  the  bare  branches  of 
the  trees  found  themselves  in  possession 
of  an  audience  of  some  half  dozen  boys, 
who  now  came  out  of  their  hiding-place. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  young  missionary, 
addressing  the  boy  who  had  spoken  so 
disparagingly  of  the  singing,  "so  you 
don't  like  our  music  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  could  hit  the  tune  better 
than  that  myself,"  was  the  confident  re- 

P1!- 

"  Then  suppose  we  all  try.     I'll  repeat 

the  words  first,  then  we'll  sing." 

The  boys  agreed,  and  their  teacher  was 
almost  deafened  by  the  lusty  manner  in 
which  the  tune  was  rendered. 

"First-rate!"  said  he;  "let's  have  it 
again."  So  again  the  woods  rang  with 
the  vigorous  notes  from  so  many  young 
throats. 

"It's  a  good  old  tune,"  exclaimed 
Phil.  The  boys  nodded. 

"  The  words  are  good  too,"  continued 
the  teacher. 


A   SINGING-SCHOOL.  289 

"Oh,  the  words  ain't  no  account  one 
way  nor  another,"  said  one  boy. 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  mean,  any- 
how," admitted  another. 

"  Ah  ?  Then  suppose  we  all  repeat 
them,  and  I  will  try  and  explain,"  said 
Phil,  while  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  rose 
in  his  heart  for  this  opportunity  of  drop- 
ping a  word  in  season.  He  asked  a  ques- 
tion or  two  :  "  Who  are  the  happy  ones?" 

"  Who  the  Saviour  obey,"  quoted  one, 
with  a  shout. 

"  And  who  is  the  Saviour,  children  ?" 
was  the  next  question. 

There  was  utter  silence,  and  Phil  asked 
again,  "  Can  you  tell  me  who  the  Saviour 
is  that  we  are  to  obey  if  we  want  to  be 
happy?" 

Some  shook  their  heads,  and  the  boy 
who  had  said  that  words  were  of  no  ac- 
count spoke  again  to  the  effect  that  he 
liked  a  good  tune,  no  matter  whether 
there  were  any  words  to  it  or  not. 

"  You  all  have  sleds,  boys  ?" 


290  PHIL   DERRY. 

"  I  reckon,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Last  winter  did  you  find  them  much 
use  to  you  without  snow  ?" 

There  was  a  look  of  surprise  in  the 
various  faces :  "  Oh,  we  had  snow,  though, 
lots  of  it." 

"  I  know,"  said  Phil,  "  but  suppose 
there  had  not  been  any.  Would  the  sleds 
have  done  much  good  then  ?" 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  Well,  it's  my  opinion  that  tunes 
without  words  are  about  like  sleds  with- 
out snow — of  very  little  use.  Now  let 
me  tell  you  what  these  words  mean.  I 
think  you  will  like  the  tune  all  the  bet- 
ter for  understanding  them."  So  Phil 
began,  taking  for  his  text  the  simple 
language  of  the  old  hymn,  and  talked  to 
his  hearers  of  the  love  of  Christ  and  the 
exceeding  great  happiness  of  being  num- 
bered among  his  disciples.  The  little 
group  listened  attentively,  but  whether 
or  not  his  words  had  reached  their  hearts 
the  young  missionary  could  not  tell.  It 


A  SINGING-SCHOOL.  291 

was  encouraging,  however,  to  be  asked 
by  one  of  the  boys  if  he  wouldn't  come 
again  to-morrow  and  teach  them  some 
more.  "  I  know  three  or  four  other  fel- 
lows that'll  come  along  with  us,"  added 
the  speaker. 

Phil  promised.  A  singing-school  was 
the  way  the  Lord  had  provided  for  him, 
it  seemed,  and  who  could  tell  how  great 
a  blessing  might  grow  therefrom  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

STEVE  HOLM 'AN' 'S  BARN. 

HIL  walked  next  day  to  the  same 
spot,  wondering  whether  or  not 
the  youngsters  would  remember 
their  promise  to  meet  him  there, 
and  feeling  not  a  little  amused  at  the  new 
character  he  had  assumed,  that  of  sing- 
ing-master. There  they  were  waiting  for 
him,  both  boys  and  girls,  and  the  num- 
ber was  more  than  doubled.  Phil  smiled 
and  nodded  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
group,  and  by  way  of  answer  the  schol- 
ars of  yesterday  struck  up  with  hearty 
good  will, 

"  How  happy  are  they 
Who  the  Saviour  obey !" 

"  Hurrah !"  shouted  the  teacher ; "  that's 
well  done,  boys.     But  see,  there  is  not 

292 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  293 

room  enough  for  us  all  here,  and  it  is 
damp,  too ;  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Our  barn  is  a  real  good  place,"  said 
a  little  girl,  "  and  pop'd  let  us  go  there,  I 
know." 

"Good  for  you,  Viney.  Let's  go!" 
shouted  one  of  the  boys ;  and  with  com- 
mon consent  the  whole  party  crossed  the 
road  and  made  their  way  to  the  barn  in- 
dicated. This  proved  very  comfortable, 
and  the  afternoon's  work  begun.  There 
was  more  than  one  present  who  thought, 
as  a  member  of  the  company  had  said, 
that  "words  ain't  no  account,"  but  the 
teacher  insisted  that  each  verse  should  be 
correctly  repeated  after  him  before  the 
singing,  and  every  now  and  then  he 
stopped  and  asked  questions,  as  before, 
about  the  meaning.  The  old  barn  fairly 
echoed  the  voices  as  an  animated  chorus 
pealed  through  it,  getting  louder  and 
louder  as  it  became  more  familiar  to  the 
singers.  Then  outsiders,  drawn  by  the 
strange  sounds,  began  to  peep  in  and  lis- 

25* 


294  PHIL   DERRY. 

ten,  and  some  of  these  remained  to  learn. 
Phil  had  met  with  marked  success  in  a 
wholly  unintended  direction.  When 
more  than  an  hour  had  passed  and  the 
voices  of  the  most  ambitious  singers 
were  growing  husky,  the  leader  knocked 
against  the  side  of  the  barn  to  enforce 
attention. 

"  All  those,"  said  he,  "  who  want  to  go 
on  with  the  singing- school,  hold  up  their 
hands." 

Every  hand  was  raised. 

"  To-morrow  will  be  Sunday,"  con- 
tinued Phil. 

"What's  the  difference?"  called  out 
one  boy,  rather  gruffly.  "We'll  come 
all  the  same,  Sunday  or  not,"  said  an- 
other. 

"  Suppose,  then,"  suggested  the  teacher, 
"that  you  get  as  many  more  to  come, 
boys  and  girls,  and  fathers  and  mothers 
too,  right  after  dinner  to-morrow — that 
is,  if  Viney's  father  will  let  us  have  the 
use  of  his  barn." 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  295 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  came  the  unexpected 
reply  from  a  tall  man  with  bushy  hair 
and  whiskers  standing  just  outside  the 
door.  "  Singing  don't  hurt  the  barn 
none;  and  if  you've  a  mind  to  waste 
your  time  foolin'  with  the  young  'uns, 
I've  got  no  objection  to  offer." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Then,"  continued 
Phil,  turning  to  his  scholars,  "  we'll  come 
and  have  a  good  sing  to-morrow,  and,  as 
I  said,  I  want  you  to  bring  your  friends 
along.  I  have  something  to  talk  to  you 
about  after  the  singing." 

A  hearty  assent  was  given,  and  the 
scholars  dispersed,  shouting,  whistling, 
leaping  and  hallooing  at  a  great  rate. 

Such  a  congregation  as  filled  the  barn 
next  day !  Clegg  Hole  was  a  surprise 
to  itself.  At  each  new  entrance  those 
already  within  turned  to  look  with  a 
smile  or  grimace,  as  much  as  to  say  to 
the  last  comer,  "  What !  you  don't  mean 
to  say  you've  come  to  the  meeting?" 
Not  even  a  travelling  show  could  have 


296  PHIL   DEEEY. 

drawn  a  larger  crowd  than  the  simple 
invitation  of  the  young  missionary. 

After  a  hymn  and  prayer  and  the 
reading  of  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son, 
Phil  rose  to  speak.  He  said  a  few  words 
about  the  singing-school  and  asked  how 
many  were  in  favour  of  keeping  it  up. 
Hands  were  raised  all  over  the  barn, 
and  some  of  the  more  enthusiastic  an- 
swered with  shouts  of,  "  Hurrah  for  sing- 
ing school !"  and  "  Go  ahead,  Derry  I" 
"  Don't  give  it  up,  Derry,"  and  the  like. 

"Young  man,"  said  Viney's  father 
when  there  came  a  lull,  "  it  seems  as  ef 
you  and  the  young  'uns  has  kind  o'  set 
this  thing  a-goin',  and  it  keeps  you  all 
out  o'  mischief  for  the  time  bein',  so  I'll 
make  you  welcome  to  the  use  of  the  barn 
whenever  you  like." 

The  tall  man  with  the  bushy  hair 
turned  very  red  in  the  face  and  gave  a 
hoarse  cough  in  conclusion,  for  he  was 
bashful,  and  even  this  little  speech  was  a 
great  effort.  The  clapping  of  hands  and 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  297 

"  Hurrah  for  Steve  Holman  !"  which  fol- 
lowed were  quite  too  much  for  Viney's 
father,  and  he  elbowed  his  way  to  the 
door  and  took  a  short  cut  across  the  field 
without  waiting  for  the  excitement  to 
subside. 

"  'Pears  to  me,"  said  a  man  standing 
near  Phil,  "  you  ain't  goin'  to  work  the 
right  way  about  this  'ere  matter.  I  know 
something  about  singin'-schools.  I  went 
to  one  reg'lar  when  I  was  a  youngster. 
They  had  a  lot  o'  books  to  sing  out  of, 
and  a  blackboard,  too,  to  write  the  notes 
on.  Now,  I  say,  stranger,  if  you  under- 
take this  thing,  I  want  you  to  do  it  in 
proper  style  for  the  credit  of  the  place." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Phil ;  "  what 
do  you  advise  ?" 

"  Advise  ?  Why,  I  advise  you,  as  the 
teacher,  to  say  what  you  want  and  then 
pass  round  your  hat.  We're  pretty  lib- 
eral folks  here  in  Clegg  Hole,  for  all 
we're  so  rough." 

Sounds   of    assent   came    from   every 


298  PHIL   DERRY. 

direction,  and  then  a  pause,  as  if  to  hear 
the  mind  of  the  leader. 

"  My  friends,"  began  the  young  man, 
"  before  we  go  any  further  I  want  to  tell 
you  a  story." 

A  hum  of  satisfaction  passed  through 
the  barn.  Everybody  was  ready  for  a 
story.  The  speaker  cleared  his  throat, 
glanced  around,  and  then,  with  a  great 
effort  at  calmness,  began  :  "  A  few  years 
ago  a  photographer  stopped  here  for  seve- 
ral days  taking  pictures.  He  had  with 
him  a  boy  to  help  in  the  work  and  take 
care  of  his  horse." 

More  than  one  significant  glance  flashed 
from  eye  to  eye  at  these  words,  but  the 
speaker  went  on  without  taking  notice 
of  this : 

"That  boy  fell  into  temptation  and 
acted  shamefully.  He  gambled  one  night, 
and  lost.  He  had  no  money  of  his  own, 
so  the  miserable  debt  fell  upon  his  em- 
ployer." 

Still  more  significant  glances  were  ex- 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  299 

changed  among  the  audience,  and  the 
speaker's  cheeks  grew  hot  and  red,  but 
still  he  went  on  : 

"  Mr.  Brown  went  away  with  his  pic- 
ture-wagon, but  the  wretched  young  gam- 
bler and  drunkard  was  left  behind,  pen- 
niless and  sick." 

"  Served  the  feller  right !"  shouted 
somebody  whose  sense  of  justice  was  too 
strong  for  silence. 

"  S-s-sh !"  whispered  somebody  else 
who  had  begun  to  suspect  the  identity 
of  Brown's  assistant  and  the  singing- 
master. 

The  speaker  went  on,  his  cheeks  grow- 
ing redder  and  his  voice  huskier :  "  The 
boy  lay  at  the  point  of  death  at  Mr. 
Stokes's  house.  It  served  him  right,  as 
you  say;  and  if  it  had  been  worse,  it  would 
have  been  the  due  reward  of  his  sin  and 
folly.  But  God  in  mercy  raised  him  up 
and  found  friends  for  him.  Mrs.  Stokes 
was  one." 

"  That  she  was,  and  so  I'll  be  for  her 


300  PHIL    DERRY. 

• 

sake,"  interrupted  the  landlord.  Phil 
gave  him  a  grateful  look  in  reply : 

"  There  was  a  good  man  here  at  that 
time,  a  missionary,  who  took  care  of  the 
sick  boy  as  if  he  had  been  his  own  son. 
He  paid  off  his  debt  and  took  him  with 
him  as  a  helper  in  his  missionary  work. 
Think  of  it,  my  friends !" 

"  Nobody  but  a  preacher  would  have 
been  such  a  muff,"  was  the  whispered 
comment,  which  the  speaker  fortunately 
did  not  hear. 

"That  excellent  man  was  the  means 
of  converting  the  young  sinner  to  the  love 
of  Christ — that  is,  his  counsel  and  exam- 
ple following  up  the  lessons  the  boy  had 
learned  at  home  in  Sunday-schools ;  and 
now  in  his  turn  that  boy,  sent  out  by 
the  '  American  Sunday-school  Union,'  is 
trying  to  bring  others  to  the  knowledge 
of  Jesus  Christ  the  Saviour.  Friends, 
some  of  you  have  already  guessed  who  it 
is  that  addresses  you.  Some  in  this  room, 
like  my  old  landlord  Mr.  Stokes,  see  in 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  301 

the  stranger  who  proposes  to  lead  a  sing- 
ing-school among  you  that  wicked  and 
unfortunate  boy  Phil  Derry." 

At  these  words  several  men  pressed 
forward  to  shake  hands  with  their  old 
acquaintance,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
Phil  could  go  on  speaking. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  he,  "  that  it  was 
through  Mr.  Williston's  teaching  that  I 
became  a  Christian.  That  teaching  be- 
gan, however,  when  I  was  at  home  in 
Eagleville,  a  wild,  careless  lad  who  cared 
for  nothing  but  fun  and  frolic.  Mr.  Wil- 
liston  began  a  Sunday-school  in  the  town 
and  brought  me  into  it.  I  learned  there 
about  Christ  and  how  he  died  to  save 
sinners.  I  learned  hymns  and  Bible 
verses,  but  it  was  not  until  I  had  fallen 
into  sin  here  at  Clegg  Hole  that  all  these 
things  touched  my  heart.  Then  I  felt 
myself  to  be  lost  indeed  if  Jesus  did  not 
save  me,  and  I  found  out  that  there  is  no 
life  worth  living  but  that  of  a  Christian. 
My  friends,  we  Western  folks  don't  take 

26 


302  PHIL,   DERRY. 

naturally  to  religion,  and  it  is  harder 
work  to  be  a  Christian,  seems  to  me,  in 
our  rough  way  of  life,  than  on  East,  where 
it's  all  churches  and  Sunday-schools  and 
good  books." 

Several  murmured  assent  to  this  as- 
sertion. 

"  But  the  Bible  was  sent  to  us  all,  and 
Jesus  Christ  died  for  us  all ;  and  surely 
we  ought  to  try  and  live  as  though  we 
believed  it." 

Again  there  were  voices  heard  agreeing 
with  the  speaker. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  with  growing  earnest- 
ness, "  why  not  make  use  of  the  plan  that 
was  proposed  a  while  ago,  and  take  up  a 
contribution  for  books  and  other  things  ? 
Only,  instead  of  a  singing-school,  I  ask 
you,  fathers,  mothers,  and  children,  why 
not  make  it  a  Sunday-school  ?" 

Phil  stopped.  His  question  was  a  start- 
ling one  to  such  an  audience;  he  must 
give  his  hearers  a  chance  to  think  about 
the  proposal.  The  thinking  had  to  be 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  303 

done  in  a  loud  way,  too,  for  Clegg  Hole 
liked  to  speak  its  mind.  The  young  folks 
who  had  formed  the  singing-class  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  their  leader,  and  were 
ready  to  believe  that  whatever  he  said 
was  right.  Those  who  knew  Phil  as  the 
energetic  worker  during  the  recent  ca- 
lamity were  disposed  to  regard  his  pro- 
posal favourably  out  of  gratitude,  and  a 
few,  like  Stokes  the  landlord,  who  saw  for 
themselves  the  great  change  wrought  by 
the  hand  of  God  in  Phil  Derry,  once  the 
young  gambler  and  drunkard,  now  the 
Christian  missionary,  were  moved  with  a 
deeper  feeling. 

The  meeting  in  Steve  Holman's  barn 
lasted  late  that  afternoon.  So  strange  a 
plan  as  that  of  a  Sunday-school  could 
not  be  accepted  or  rejected  without  every- 
body having  a  "  say  "  in  the  matter.  One 
or  two  youngsters  demurred,  because,  as 
they  said,  "  Singin'  was  fun,  but  Sunday- 
school  must  be  a  slow  affair."  These 
were  assured  that  in  Sunday-school  they 


304  PHIL   DERUY. 

should  have  singing  to  their  hearts'  con- 
tent, and  they  were  quite  reconciled.  The 
final  decision  of  Clegg  Hole  was  ex- 
pressed by  Stokes  the  landlord.  "  None 
of  us  knows,"  said  he,  "how  the  thing 
may  turn  out.  The  most  of  us,  neigh- 
bours, has  one  time  or  another  risked 
our  money  in  lotteries.  Now,  says  I, 
this  Sunday-school  business  can't  be 
more  uncertain  than  a  lottery.  The 
prize  offered  is,  as  I  take  it,  the  saving 
of  our  children's  souls.  If  it's  only  one 
out  of  the  whole  lot  that  wins,  and  he 
gets  that  prize,  my  judgment  is  that  it's 
a  good  speculation." 

With  these  words  Stokes  pulled  off 
his  dirty  slouched  hat  and  held  it  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  dived  into 
the  depths  of  his  pocket  and  brought 
forth  a  handful  of  money,  which  he 
threw  into  the  hat  without  counting, 
nudging  and  nodding  to  the  bystanders 
right  and  left  to  follow  his  example. 

Philip  Derry  stood  silent  now,  gazing 


STEVE  HOLMAN'S  BARN.  305 

with  wonder  at  the  effect  of  his  words, 
or  rather  at  the  answer  God  was  giving 
to  his  prayers.  Could  this  indeed  be 
Clegg  Hole — the  spot  from  which  at  first 
sight  he  had  shrunk  back  years  ago  in 
dread  and  foreboding  ?  Could  this  man 
at  this  moment  making  the  first  contri- 
bution to  the  cause  of  religion  ever  made 
in  the  town  be  the  very  same  Stokes  who 
had  treated  him  so  gruffly  at  his  former 
visit  ?  He  looked  at  the  hat  passing  from 
hand  to  hand,  receiving  in  its  greasy  in- 
terior a  collection  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  more  promising-looking  crowd; 
he  looked  and  marvelled,  and  in  the  si- 
lence of  his  heart  gave  thanks  to  God. 

26*  U 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

UNEXPECTED  HELPERS. 

[VERY  one  knows  that  it  takes 
more  than  money  to  build  up  a 
Sunday-school.  The  meeting  in 
the  barn  over  and  the  crowd  dis- 
persed, the  missionary  wandered  to  the 
edge  of  the  river,  the  scene  only  a  few 
days  previous  of  so  much  suffering  and 
loss,  and  pondered  as  to  the  course  to  be 
pursued.  The  liberal  gifts  which  had 
been  poured  into  his  hands  from  Stokes's 
slouch  hat  were  to  be  spent  in  the  pur- 
chase of  library  and  singing  books,  chil- 
dren's papers,  etc.  There  must  be  a  place 
provided  for  the  school,  there  must  be 
teachers. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Phil  as   he  paced 
the  river  bank,  speaking,  as  he  thought, 

306 


UNEXPECTED   HELPERS.  307 

very  softly  and  to  nobody  but  himself; 
"'Thus  far  the  Lord  hath  led  me  on/ 
and  'How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints 
of  the  Lord !' " 

It  was  a  way  Phil  had  of  mixing  up 
hymns  and  comforting  himself  by  a  line 
here  and  a  line  there,  just  as  they  hap- 
pened to  fit  in  with  his  reflections.  He 
was  certainly  pondering  that  moment  on 
the  difficulties  of  the  work  before  him, 
and  taking  courage  from  the  remem- 
brance of  what  God  had  already  brought 
him  through  while  he  tried  to  establish 
his  faith  for  Clegg  Hole  on  that  "  firm 
foundation." 

"  Hallo  there !"  shouted  a  rough  voice. 
"What  an  absent-minded  young  feller 
you  are,  to  be  sure !" 

Phil  started  and  looked  around  him  in 
every  direction  to  discover  the  owner  of 
the  voice.  It  proved  to  be  a  man  with  a 
big  red  nose  and  an  ugly  scar  on  one 
cheek  who  stood  leaning  against  a  tree 
near  by  idly  chewing  a  quid  of  tobacco 


308  PHIL,   DERRY. 

and  pausing  at  every  two  or  three  words 
to  spit. 

"Don't  remember  me,  eh?  'Tain't 
likely  you  do.  I  don't  appear  to  be  just 
the  sort  of  chap  for  a  preacher  to  asso- 
ciate with." 

The  man  spit  and  chuckled,  then 
looked  steadily  in  Phil's  face  to  discover 
from  its  expression  whether  he  was 
recognized  or  not.  The  young  man 
returned  the  gaze  with  the  unconcern 
which  is  natural  on  seeing  a  countenance 
which  has  no  connection  with  one's  past 
or  present,  probably  none  with  one's 
future.  Just  for  one  instant  Phil  looked 
at  his  companion  thus,  and  then  a  sud- 
den paleness  overspread  his  face  and  the 
hopeful,  trusting  look  of  a  soul  strength- 
ening itself  on  God's  promises  gave  place 
to  one  of  mingled  shame  and  disgust. 
The  scar  on  the  cheek,  the  big  red  nose, 
were  painfully  familiar  as  being  associated 
with  a  day  never  to  be  recalled  without 
pain.  The  man  saw  that  he  was  known, 


UNEXPECTED    HELPERS.  309 

saw,  too,  the  repugnance  caused  by  the 
recognition,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  be 
angry. 

"  'Tain't  always  agreeable,  I  suppose,  to 
fall  in  with  old  acquaintances,  'specially 
when  you've  took  a  turn  in  a  very  differ- 
ent direction.  Don't  feel  disposed  for  a 
game  of  billiards  this  afternoon,  eh,  Mr. 
Deny?" 

Phil  made  no  answer,  he  was  so  over- 
taken by  surprise,  so  sick  at  heart,  with 
sorrowful  remembrance.  The  man  saw 
and  understood  what  his  honest  features 
expressed  so  forcibly,  and  presently  said 
with  a  spit  and  a  good-humoured  chuckle, 

"  I  see  just  how  'tis,  but  I  don't  blame 
you.  I  have  felt  sorry  ever  since  that 
I  was  so  hard  on  you,  but  maybe  you 
don't  know  yet  what  a  little  fool  you 
was  for  tryin'  your  luck  agin  an  old 
hand  like  me.  I  never  would  have  said 
a  word  about  the  money,  though  you  was 
such  a  fool,  only  I  knew,  you  see,  that  it 
wouldn't  come  out  o'  your  pocket,  but 


310  PHIL    DERRY. 

out  o'  your  boss's.  Never  liked  that  man 
Brown ;  a  reg'lar  old  skinflint." 

The  man  paused  to  take  breath  and  a 
fresh  quid  of  tobacco.  Phil  stood  mo- 
tionless, still  pale  and  anxious,  as  -if  in 
fear  that  some  new  evil  lay  right  before 
him  from  the  mere  presence  of  this  un- 
welcome intruder. 

"  I've  been  sorry,  Derry,  as  I  was 
sayin',  that  I  had  been  so  hard  on  you 
that  time,  and  it  just  come  across  me, 
when  I  got  wind  of  who  it  was  and  what 
you  was  up  to,  that  I  might  help  on  this 
Sunday-school  business  o'  yourn  a  little, 
and  so  wipe  out  old  scores." 

The  man's  eyes  twinkled  and  the  scar 
on  his  cheek  grew  red  and  ugly  as  he 
laughed  his  rough,  coarse  laugh,  which 
was  really  in  harmless  amusement  at  his 
companion's  perplexity,  but  which  Phil 
imagined  a  prophecy  of  some  trouble,  he 
could  not  guess  what,  about  to  befall  him. 
With  his  customary  chuckle  and  spit, 
Joel  Pratt — for  that  was  the  name  so 


UNEXPECTED   HELPERS.  311 

memorable  in  Phil's  Clegg  Hole  expe- 
rience— said : 

"  'Pears  to  me,  youngster,  you're 
mighty  afraid  of  me  yet.  Well,  no 
wonder.  But  we're  not  going  to  play 
billiards  again,  you  know.  Now,  what 
I  had  to  say  was  this.  The  old  billiard- 
saloon  is  still  standing ;  you  know  that, 
maybe,  though  you  haven't  been  in  to 
give  us  a  call  this  time.  Too  pious  now, 
eh?  I  hear  you  want  a  place  to  hold 
meetin's  in.  How  will  the  old  place  do 
for  a  Sunday-school  room  ?" 

The  man  laughed,  as  well  he  might, 
at  Phil's  wondering  look. 

"  Do  you  mean —  But  of  course  I 
don't  quite  understand  you.  Tell  me 
again  what  you  said." 

"  I  said,  or  meant  to  say,"  continued 
Joel,  "that  if  my  place  there — it's  my 
property  still — will  answer  your  purpose 
to  preach  and  pray  in,  or  whatever  you 
like,  you're  quite  welcome  to  the  use  of 
it  every  Sunday  as  long  as  it  stands. 


312  PHIL   DERBY. 

Moreover,  I'll  see  that  it's  swept  out 
clean  for  you  each  time,  so  that  the  chil- 
dren shall  not  have  so  much  as  the  smell 
o'  tobacco  and  whisky.  If  you  like  my 
offer,  take  it ;  if  not,  enough  said." 

Phil  did  like  the  offer,  and  said  so  with 
a  very  hearty  shake  of  the  hand.  The 
strangely  paired  couple  parted,  and  Phil 
went  back  to  his  lodgings  that  Sunday 
evening  singing  with  a  new  sense  of  its 
truth  the  hymn : 

"  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform." 

The  day  following  our  earnest  young 
missionary  busied  himself  in  going  on 
a  round  of  calls  from  house  to  house, 
with  intent  to  follow  up  the  public  meet- 
ing of  Sunday  with  private  conversa- 
tions with  fathers  and  mothers  about  the 
great  duty  of  bringing  up  their  children 
in  the  fear  of  the  Lord.  Everywhere 
he  went  he  found  the  special  work  God 
had  ready  for  him  to  do  that  day.  Here 
was  a  man  cast  down  by  his  losses  in 


UNEXPECTED    HELPERS.  313 

the  flood  needing  words  of  comfort ;  there 
a  father  wasting  his  money  in  drink  and 
setting  a  bad  example  to  his  sons  to  whom 
a  solemn  admonition  must  be  given.  At 
one  place  there  was  a  worldly  mother 
who  spent  all  she  could  on  her  daughter's 
dress,  but  had  not  a  cent  for  her  soul's 
welfare,  for  whom  Phil  had  just  the  right 
tract  in  his  pocket ;  at  another,  a  soul  just 
hovering  between  time  and  eternity  to 
whom  the  young  man's  prayer  and  softly- 
spoken  Bible  words  gave  strength  and 
consolation.  The  special  work  in  hand, 
that  of  arousing  an  interest  in  the  Sun- 
day-school, seemed  to  prosper  even  be- 
<yond  the  expectations  of  Phil,  who  knew 
Clegg  Hole  too  well  to  be  very  sanguine. 
Scholars  were  ready  to  come,  a  place  had 
been  provided  by  Joel  Pratt,  books  and 
other  requisites  were  already  sent  for. 
The  only  thing  lacking  now  was  teach- 
ers, and  a  serious  lack  it  was.  Here  no 
Captain  Marks  could  be  found  to  super- 
intend, no  faithful  Miss  Millet  to  study 

27 


314  PHIL   DERRY. 

diligently  herself  in  order  to  instruct 
others.  Phil  thought  of  Hallie  Hope 
and  her  school  at  Shunem  with  a  vague 
wish  that  duplicates  of  her  might  be 
given  to  Clegg  Hole  and  every  other 
town  to  which  his  missionary  work  should 
lead  him.  That  wish  could  not  be  grant- 
ed, of  course ;  and  even  if  it  had  been,  it 
is  more  than  doubtful  if  a  young  lady 
like  Miss  Hope  would  have  succeeded  in 
managing  just  such  a  set  of  people  as 
made  up  this  community.  Phil's  faith 
would  have  been  not  a  little  strength- 
ened that  Monday  morning  could  he 
have  foreseen  the  aid  God  had  in  store 
for  Clegg  Hole. 

After  spending  the  whole  day  visiting 
the  townspeople,  he  turned  toward  his 
lodging,  tired,  but  hopeful  of  brighter 
days  for  this  ungodly  little  place,  for  had 
he  not  often  prayerfully  committed  it  to 
God  ?  and  if  the  Almighty  saved  Nine- 
veh of  old,  out  of  his  great  compassion 
would  he  not  also  save  Clegg  Hole? 


UNEXPECTED    HELPEES.  315 

Phil  was  stepping  briskly  past  the  door 
of  Stokes's  tavern,  when  his  attention  was 
caught  by  a  face  at  an  upper  window. 
It  was  that  of  a  man  rather  beyond  mid- 
dle age,  with  no  very  expressive  feature 
about  it,  but  which,  taken  as  a  whole, 
suggested  to  the  charitable  looker  on  the 
hope  that  the  owner  of  the  face  had  a 
rich  father,  a  go-ahead  son,  or  some  other 
family  connection  able  to  shelter  him 
from  the  serious  responsibilities  of  life. 

Phil  glanced  up,  then  went  on  a  step 
or  two  and  turned  his  head  to  get  an- 
other look  at  the  face  in  the  window,  and 
then,  a  quick  smile  coming  over  his  own 
face,  he  came  briskly  back  to  the  tavern, 
skipped  up  the  dingy  stairs,  taking  three 
at  a  time,  and  was  presently  inside  the 
room  at  whose  window  he  had  discovered 
an  old  friend : 

"  Why,  Mr.  Striker,  can  this  be  really 
you  ?  When  did  you  arrive?  and  are  you 
going  to  stop  long?  and  where's  your  wife 
and  Hannah  and  the  children  ?"  The 


316  PHIL  DERBY. 

questions  came  thick  and  fast,  and  all 
the  while  the  big,  strong  hand  of  the 
speaker  was  shaking  the  nerveless  brown 
one  that  lay  in  its  palm  with  a  mighty 
grasp. 

"  Yes,  it's  me ;  got  here  this  morning ; 
goin'  to  stop  altogether  if  Mercy  thinks 
best;  and  there  she  is,"  replied  Tom 
Striker,  taking  each  inquiry  in  its  turn 
with  the  drawling  exactness  of  a  child 
reciting  a  rule  in  arithmetic.  He  looked 
toward  a  door  which  communicated  with 
a  smaller  inner  room,  at  whose  knob  some- 
body on  the  other  side  was  fumbling  as 
if  with  wet  hands.  Phil's  eyes  took  the 
same  direction,  and  presently  the  door 
opened  and  revealed  Mrs.  Mercy  Striker 
herself,  a  towel  in  her  hand  which  had 
evidently  been  doing  double  duty  in  both 
washing  and  wiping  the  hands  of  several 
young  Strikers  still  grimy  from  their 
journey.  She  nodded  in  a  cool  way  to 
Phil,  evidently  taking  him  for  some  per- 


UNEXPECTED    HELPERS.  317 

son  connected  with  the  tavern,  and  said, 
shortly, 

"  If  you've  got  any  business,  young 
man,  come  to  me  about  it  at  once.  Don't 
waste  time  talking  to  him,"  nodding  to- 
ward her  husband.  "  Have  you  brought 
that  box  along  that  I  spoke  about?  I 
want  it  up  here  as  quick  as  it  can  be  got, 
and  so  I  told  that  sleepy  landlord  down 
stairs.  Come,  are  you  goin'  to  answer 
me  now  or  next  month?" 

Energetic  Mrs.  Striker  paused  and 
surveyed  the  supposed  delinquent  with 
a  searching  severity  in  the  look  which 
matched  her  words. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Striker,  don't  you—" 

But  Phil  got  no  further.  Dashing  the 
towel  on  the  floor  and  her  arms  about 
the  visitor's  neck,  the  good  woman  burst 
out  crying  and  talking  in  very  discon- 
nected sentences,  all  of  which  might  be 
interpreted  to  mean  that  she  was  very 
glad,  very  much  surprised,  and  entirely 
overcome  at  the  appearance  of  her  old 

27* 


318  PHIL   DERRY. 

favourite.  The  excitement  -waa  helped 
on  by  the  laughing  and  screwming  of  the 
young  Strikers,  who  came  forth  from  the 
other  room  to  echo  their  mother's  wel- 
come as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  this 
was  not  a  porter  or  clerk  of  the  tavern, 
but  their  old  friend  Phil  Derry.  After 
a  while  all  the  company  got  their  breath 
again  and  proceeded  to  explain  matters 
to  one  another. 

"  That  Tom  of  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Striker, 
confidentially,  "has  lost  the  little  luck 
he  ever  had.  I  manage  to  keep  things 
goin'  somehow ;  but  when  a  man's  out  o' 
work  and  just  lyin'  round  in  your  way,  it 
comes  hard  to  keep  everything  up  to  the 
mark." 

"  I  know,"  interposed  her  hearer,  by 
way  of  sympathy  ;  "  it  was  just  about  so 
at  our  house  after  father  was  taken  away." 

Mrs.  Striker  drew  herself  up  very 
straight : 

.  "  I  don't  mean  you  to  suppose — no,  not 
for  one  moment,  Phil  Derry — that   my 


UNEXPECTED    HELPERS.  319 

house  ever  looked  like  yours.  I'd  work 
my  fingers  to  the  bone  before  I'd  let  my 
children  live  in  dirt  and  rags  the  way  your 
mother  did.  But  there,  now !  I  didn't  go 
to  hurt  your  feelings ;  'twarn't  your  fault." 

"  But  how  came  you  all  this  way  from 
Eagleville?"  asked  Phil,  desirous  of 
changing  the  subject.  "  There  isn't 
much  business  going  on  here.  What 
does  your  husband  think  of  doing  ?" 

"  Why,  lawsy  me,  Phil !  didn't  you 
know  that  Tom's  half  brother  lives  here  ? 
John  Larkin's  his  name.  He  wrote  on 
to  us  very  encouraging,  and  so  I  con- 
cluded to  pack  up  and  come  on.  He  has 
lost  nearly  everything  by  the  freshet, 
John  has.  That's  the  reason  we  put  up 
here  instead  of  at  his  house,  because  his 
house  was  carried  away  by  the  flood.  We 
didn't  hear  the  bad  news  until  we  was  all 
ready  to  start,  and  then  says  I,  '  What's 
the  difference?  It  would  take  a  pretty 
big  flood  to  wash  away  my  ambition,  and 
as  for  Tom,  he  never  had  any,  so  we 


320  PHIL   DERRY. 

might  as  well  begin  afresh  in  Clegg  Hole 
as  in  Eagleville ;'  and  the  long  and  the 
short  of  it  is,  here  we  are,  bag  and  bag- 
gage." 

Phil  did  not  get  away  from  the  tavern 
till  a  late  hour.  There  was  so  much  to 
be  told  on  both  sides ;  there  was  all  the 
Eagleville  news  to  be  learned,  all  that 
Phil  knew  of  his  mother's  present  affairs 
to  be  talked  over,  his  own  experience  of 
missionary  life  to  be  given,  and  the  pros- 
pects of  the  Striker  family  to  be  dis- 
cussed. As  may  well  be  imagined,  poor 
Tom  Striker  sat  in  the  background,  while 
his  wife  kept  up  the  conversation,  the 
children  putting  in  a  word,  or  rather  a 
shout,  now  and  then. 

"So  you've  actually  got  a  Sunday- 
school  started  in  this  outlandish  little 
place  ?"  remarked  Mrs.  Striker. 

"Started?  Well,  no,  I  can  hardly 
call  it  started  yet,  but  we're  working  to- 
wards a  start." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that — very  glad," 


UNEXPECTED    HELPERS.  321 

was  the  emphatic  comment.  "  You  hear 
that,  children,  do  you  ?  Better  be  look- 
ing over  your  last  lessons  against  next 
Sunday,  so's  not  to  make  your  mother 
ashamed  of  you  after  all  the  privileges 
you've  enjoyed." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Phil  Derry,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Striker,  turning  again  to 
the  young  man :  "  that  Sunday-school  has 
been  the  very  saving  of  Eagleville.  You 
know  what  a  rowdy  sort  of  place  it  was 
when  you  were  a  little  boy — well,  I  may 
say,  when  you  came  away.  Now  it's  not 
thought  respectable  to  get  drunk  or  to 
gamble;  and  did  you  know  they  have 
preaching  there  once  a  month  reg'lar? 
Yes,  indeed ;  there's  a  man  comes  over 

from  R the  second  Sunday  of  every 

month ;  he  puts  up  with  the  captain.  He 
gives  'em  powerful  preaching,  I  tell  you 
what.  Why,  there's  ever  so  many  been 
converted.  There's  Jenks  and  Carter  and 
Carter's  wife,"  mused  Mrs.  Striker,  count- 
ing them  off  on  her  fingers.  "There's 
v 


322  PHIL   DERRY. 

the  Purdys ;  you  know  what  a  thriftless 
sort  of  body  she  was.  Jerry  Jones,  too, 
he  joined  lately — " 

"  What !  Jerry  Jones  a  church  mem- 
ber?" interrupted  her  attentive  listener. 
"  Well,  I  never  would  have  dared  hope 
for  his  conversion." 

"What's  that  you  say?"  and  Mrs. 
Striker  fixed  her  eyes  sharply  on  the 
young  man's  face.  "  You  a  missionary 
and  not  dare  hope  for  any  man's  conver- 
sion ?  Humph !  I  thought  better  of  you." 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that,"  was 
the  mild  reply.  "  I,  of  all  people,  ought 
not  to  set  a  limit  to  the  Lord's  mercy." 

"  Of  course  you  ought  not,"  chimed  in 
Mrs.  Striker.  "  But  now  I  want  to 
know  all  about  this  Clegg  Hole  affair. 
When  John  Larkin  wrote  to  us  about 
coming  on,  he  said  it  was  a  pretty  hard 
place,  and  that  if  we  made  any  account 
of  meetings  and  such  like  we'd  better 
make  up  our  minds  to  do  without  all  re- 
ligious privileges.  Let's  hear  how  it  is." 


UNEXPECTED   HELPERS.  323 

As  soon  as  the  well-meaning  talker 
gave  Phil  a  chance  he  did  let  her  hear 
all  there  was  to  be  heard  about  the  Sun- 
day-school scheme  in  Clegg  Hole,  and 
ended  by  saying, 

."  Everything  else  seemed  promising, 
but  up  to  this  time  I  have  been  greatly 
perplexed  as  to  what  we  were  to  do  for 
teachers." 

"Up  to  this  time?"  questioned  Mrs. 
Striker. 

"  Yes ;  it's  all  right  now,"  was  Phil's 
smiling  answer.  "  I  take  that  to  be  one 
reason  of  your  coming  to  Clegg  Hole. 
God  sent  you  in  answer  to  my  prayers 
for  teachers." 

This  was  said  with  great  reverence  and 
sincerity,  for  our  young  missionary  had 
learned  in  his  own  Christian  experience 
that  Christ's  word  is  to  be  trusted  when 
he  says,  "  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,"  and 
that  "whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  of  the 
Father  in  my  name  he  may  give  it  to 
you."  He  had  earnestly  asked  that  the 


324  PHIL   DERRY. 

salvation  of  God  might  come  to  this 
wicked  little  town.  He  had  prayed  that 
his  efforts  for  a  Sunday-school  might  be 
used  as  God's  means  of  bringing  true 
religion  to  the  knowledge  of  its  people.. 
To  this  end  he  had  fervently  entreated 
that  good  teachers  might  be  provided. 

Mrs.  Striker  smiled  approvingly.  "  You 
always  were  a  sensible  boy,  Phil,"  she 
said.  "  Well,  if  you  really  want  me  to 
take  hold  and  work  in  this  Sunday- 
school,  I'm  ready.  Who's  to  superin- 
tend ?  You  do  while  you  stay,  of  course, 
but  you  missionaries  never  do  any  more 
than  see  the  thing  going,  and  then  you're 
off  somewhere  else.  Who's  to  be  super- 
intendent right  along  ?" 

"  You,"  replied  Phil,  simply. 

"  All  right.  You  may  count  on  me. 
There's  Hannah ;  she'll  take  a  class  of 
girls.  Hannah's  been  a  teacher  in  the 
Eagleville  school  these  six  months." 

Phil  looked  toward  Hannah,  who  was 
sitting  mutely  in  the  corner  reading.  A 


UNEXPECTED   HELPERS.  325 

tall,  angular  girl  she  was,  with  a  de- 
termined look  that  proved  her  to  be  of 
much  the  same  character  as  her  mother. 
She  glanced  up  when  her  name  was 
spoken,  and  nodded  her  head. 

"There's  Jane,  too,"  continued  the 
mother.  "  She's  rather  young  yet,  to  be 
sure,  but  Jane  is  a  real  good  girl ;  she 
and  Hannah,  both  of  'em,  have  been  truly 
converted."  She  gave  this  last  assurance 
in  a  softer  tone  and  with  more  apparent 
feeling  than  one  would  have  expected 
from  such  a  woman.  "  I'll  trust  Jane  to 
take  a  class  of  little  ones  and  do  her  duty 
by  'em." 

"  Then  I  shall  depend  on  you  all  next 
Sunday,"  said  Phil  as  he  rose  to  take 
leave.  "  I  knew  that  when  a  place  and 
money  were  so  freely  offered  for  the 
school  the  teachers  would  surely  be  pro- 
vided too,  but  I  never  guessed  that  even 
when  I  was  praying  for  them  they  were 
on  their  way  here  from  dear  old  Eagle- 
ville." 

28 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A  CHANGE  OF  SCENE. 

?  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that 
!iC^pi  when  our  missionary  said  good- 
bye to  his  friends  at  Clegg  Hole 
the  new  Sunday-school  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  succeed.  Hannah  Striker's 
powerful  voice  and  familiarity  with  most 
of  the  popular  hymns  won  for  her  the 
immediate  good  will  of  the  children,  and 
comforted  them  somewhat  for  the  loss  of 
Phil.  A  good-sized  library  shone  in 
bindings  of  gay  red  and  blue  on  the 
shelves  which  Joel  Pratt  had  neatly  fitted 
up  in  a  corner  of  the  saloon,  and  a  gen- 
eral interest  among  young  and  old  alike 
was  beginning  to  be  felt  in  the  enterprise. 
How  different  were  the  feelings  of  the 
young  man  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the 

326 


A   CHANGE   OF   SCENE.  327 

stage  amid  numberless  hand-shakings 
and  good  wishes  of  so  many  friends  from 
that  former  starting  off  in  disgrace,  with 
no  one  to  give  him  an  encouraging  word 
but  his  true  benefactor  Mr.  Williston  and 
poor  Sukey  Stokes  !  When  the  door  of 
the  stage  was  closed  and  he  was  again 
whirling  past  the  dwellings  and  fields 
now  so  familiar  to  him,  a  fervent  thanks- 
giving filled  his  heart  that  God  had  al- 
lowed him  to  do  some  good  for  souls  in 
the  very  place  where  his  own  soul  had 
been  so  endangered. 

Riding  through  the  beautiful  Western 
country  had  always  a  charm  for  Phil, 
even  though  in  his  life  of  almost  constant 
travel  it  had  become,  as  one  might  say, 
"an  old  story."  He  had  acquired  the 
habit  of  showing  himself  friendly  to 
travelling  companions  that  he  might 
through  such  small  courtesies  as  came  in 
his  way  find  means  of  speaking  a  word 
in  season  for  his  Master  and  theirs.  If 
left  to  himself,  as  on  this  particular  occa- 


328  PHIL   DEERY. 

sion  he  was,  a  long  ride  brought  no  weari- 
ness of  spirit  with  it,  for  his  pocket  al- 
ways held  the  little  Testament  with  which 
he  had  left  Eagleville  as  Nathan  Brown's 
assistant,  and  a  bundle  of  tracts;  his  well- 
worn  hymn-book,  too,  was  always  within 
reach,  and  many  a  joyful  melody  was 
wafted  over  hills  and  plains  where  per- 
haps no  such  sounds  had  ever  before 
been  heard. 

For  the  most  part,  the  work  to  which 
our  hero  had  devoted  his  life  lay  among 
ignorant  people  living  in  rude  settle- 
ments that  were  just  struggling  for  ex- 
istence. Sometimes,  however,  the  expe- 
rience was  varied,  and  he  found  himself 
sent  with  a  message  to  people  blest  with 
abundance  of  this  world's  goods,  and  even 
blest  in  spiritual  things  to  some  extent, 
but  without  that  religious  vitality  which 
is  suggested  by  such  Bible  phrases  as 
"Fight  the  good  fight  of  faith;"  "Strive 
to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate;"  "Fer- 
vent in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord."  The 


A   CHANGE  OF  SCENE.  329 

city  of  E, was  an  example  of  this. 

When  Phil  arrived  there  one  fine  spring 
morning,  and  moved  behind  the  crowd 
of  well-dressed  people  through  the  sub- 
stantial railroad  station,  he  felt  at  a  loss 
what  to  do,  wondering  for  the  moment  if 
he  had  not  made  some  mistake  as  to  his 
instructions ;  "  For,"  said  simple-minded 
Phil  to  himself,  "surely  in  so  fine  a  place 
as  this  there  can't  be  any  work  for  a  poor 
missionary  to  do."  This  impression  be- 
came fixed  in  his  mind  as,  with  valise  in 
hand,  he  made  his  way  along  one  of  the 
principal  streets.  There  were  handsome 
dwellings,  stores  with  enormous  windows 
of  plate-glass,  the  like  of  which  our  Eagle- 
vine  boy  had  never  seen  before.  There 
were  hotels  that  certainly  would  disown 
relationship  to  the  very  plain  taverns  of 
Clegg  Hole  and  similar  places  he  had 
visited.  Best  of  all,  there  were  churches, 
fine  large  ones,  built  of  brick  and  stone. 
"  Ah,  yes !"  thought  Phil ;  "  there  can't 
be  any  work  for  me  in  R .  I  might 

28  * 


330  PHIL   DEKRY. 

as  well  start  off  by  the  next  train  and 
write  to  our  excellent  secretary  at  Phil- 
adelphia that  there  was  nothing  to  do 
here."  But  a  moment's  reflection  served 
to  show  that  this  would  be  a  very  unwise 
course.  Having  reached  the  place,  he 
ought  certainly  to  find  out  something 
about  it,  and  try  to  receive  good  if  he 
failed  to  impart  it.  Having  inquired  the 
names  of  two  or  three  pastors,  Phil  made 
it  his  first  business  to  call  upon  them. 
The  first  one  with  whom  he  sought  an 
interview  was  out  of  town ;  the  second 
had  an  engagement  at  that  very  hour; 
and  wearied  and  disheartened,  Phil  rang 
the  door-bell  of  the  Rev.  Paul  Cathcart. 
He  was  admitted  and  shown  at  once  to 
the  minister's  study.  A  little  man  with 
iron-gray  hair  and  keen  but  pleasant 
blue  eyes  rose  to  meet  the  stranger.  Phil 
introduced  himself  in  as  few  words  as 
possible  as  an  agent  of  "  The  American 
Sunday-school  Union,"  and  stated  that 
he  had  taken  the  liberty  of  calling  in 


A   CHANGE   OF   SCENE.  331 

order  to  learn  the  condition  of  Sunday- 
schools  in  R . 

"  Be  seated,  my  friend,  be  seated,"  said 
Mr.  Cathcart,  cordially,  wheeling  a  cush- 
ioned arm-chair  toward  the  study-table. 
"  Sunday-school  agent,  eh  ?  An  excellent 
work  you  have  undertaken,  sir — an  excel- 
lent work.  I  understand  that  the  Ameri- 
can Sunday-school  Union  has  accom- 
plished an  amazing  amount  of  good  in  the 
needy  places  of  the  West.  An  excellent 
institution,  I  am  sure."  * 

* "  HALF  A  CENTURY'S  WORK,  1824-1874. 
Schools  organized,  over          ...        60,000 
Containing  teachers,  "  ...      400,000 

Containing  scholars,  "  ...    2,500,000 

In  addition  to  the  Sunday-schools  actually  organized, 
there  has  been  another  and  equally  important  work,  to 
wit:  to  nurture  and  sustain  these  and  other  schools.  The 
records  show  that  by  visits  and  words  of  counsel  and  en- 
couragement and  gifts  of  books  and  papers,  assistance 
has  been  extended  in  87,291  cases,  with  a  membership  of 
teachers  674,959,  and  of  scholars  4,842,768.  Amount 
expended  in  missionary  operations  (1824-1874),  $2,133,- 
264.13,  of  which  about  $517,000  were  for  books,  papers, 
etc.,  furnished  to  needy  Sunday-schools." 

From  "The  Origin  and  Work  of  the  American  Sun- 
day-school Union,  Semi-Centennial,  1874,"  p.  10. 


332  PHIL  DERBY. 

The  Rev.  Paul  Cathcart  said  all  this 
in  a  meditative  way,  and  might  have  gone 
on  in  the  same  strain  for  a  couple  of  hours 
had  not  his  visitor  brought  him  to  some- 
thing more  definite  by  a  direct  question 
as  to  the  state  of  the  Sunday-school  con- 
nected with  his  own  church.  At  this 
Mr.  Cathcart  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
gray  hair  several  times,  and  then  softly 
rubbed  his  hands  : 

"  Our  Sunday-school  ?  Hm-m-m!  Well, 
I  presume  the  superintendent  could  give 
you  more  exact  information  about  it  than 
I.  In  fact,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my 
congregation  do  not  take  as  much  inter- 
est in  the  matter  as  they  ought.  They 
want  a  little  stirring  up  on  the  subject 
now  and  then.  There  are  so  many  ex- 
penses connected  with  a  church  like  ours 
that  really,  when  it  comes  to  the  Sunday- 
school,  they  are  not  able  to  do  much  for 
it." 

"  I  understand  you,  then,  sir,  to  say 


A  CHANGE  OF  SCENE.  333 

that  your  people  are  poor  ?"  said  simple- 
minded  Phil. 

"  Poor !  Oh,  not  exactly  that,"  an- 
swered the  pastor,  with  a  quiet  smile. 
"  But  we  have  lately  got  a  new  organ, 
and  the  choir  costs  considerable.  There 
have  been  several  improvements  made  in 
the  church-building  during  the  past  year, 
and  various  other  matters  have  come  up 
bringing  expense  upon  the  parish,  so  we 
can't  blame  them  altogether  for  falling 
short  somewhere." 

Mr.  Cathcart  looked  toward  his  guest 
as  if  expecting  an  answer,  and  so  Phil 
nodded,  and  said, 

"  Of  course  not,"  at  the  same  time 
making  answer  in  his  heart  that  there 
was  blame  in  letting  that  "  somewhere  " 
be  at  the  door  of  the  Sunday-school. 

"  By  the  way,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Cathcart, 
"  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  and  perhaps 
you  will  be  kind  enough  to  step  in  and 
give  the  children  a  talk ;  the  teachers  too. 
Stir  them  up  if  you  can,  sir." 


334  PHIL   DERBY. 

"  At  what  hour,  Mr.  Cathcart  ?" 
"  The  school  is  held  in  the  basement  of 
the  church  directly  after  morning  service. 
I  should  be  pleased  to  have  you  call  here, 
say  about  ten  o'clock,  and  go  with  my 
family  to  church,  and  after  that  I  will 
introduce  you  to  Mr.  Jay,  our  superin- 
tendent. He  will  give  you  all  the  infor- 
mation you  desire,  and  be  pleased  to  have 
your  aid  in  interesting  the  school,  I  have 
no  doubt." 

Phil  accepted  the  invitation  and  took 
his  leave.  Next  morning,  when  the  first 
bells  were  ringing,  he  again  presented 
himself  at  Mr.  Cathcart's  residence,  was 
introduced  to  his  wife  and  daughters,  and 
with  them  entered  by  far  the  most  beau- 
tiful church  he  had  ever  seen.  He  sat 
spellbound  while  the  skilful  organist 
drew  forth  from  the  instrument  a  soft 
and  dreamy  voluntary.  He  looked  with 
wonder  at  -the  richly-stained  windows, 
and  passed  through  the  service  in  a  sort 
of  dream.  When  the  minister  rose  and 


A    CHANGE   OP   SCENE.  335 

gave  out  his  text,  he  listened  intently, 
for  he  expected  a  rare  feast  for  his  soul 
from  the  word  of  God  when  expounded 
by  such  a  learned  man  as  the  Rev.  Paul 
Cathcart  must  needs  be.  How  disap- 
pointed he  was !  One  of  dear  Mr.  Wil- 
liston's  plain  talks  in  some  rough  old 
school-house  during  those  pleasant  mis- 
sionary journeys  they  had  taken  together 
had  more  of  heaven  and  Christ  in  one 
sentence  than  could  be  found  in  that 
whole  sermon.  Phil  leaned  back  against 
the  cushions,  and  cared  no  more  for 
stained  windows,  grand  organ,  or  well- 
trained  singers.  He  had  never  borne  his 
part  in  the  public  worship  of  God  with 
so  little  earnestness.  For  this  he  blamed 
himself  severely,  and  was  grieved  at  his 
own  lack  of  zeal.  At  the  close  of  the 
meeting  Mr.  Cathcart  joined  him  and 
introduced  him  to  Mr.  Jay,  as  he  had 
promised.  This  gentleman  conducted 
him  to  the  basement,  where  he  in  turn 
introduced  the  missionary  to  several  ladies 


336  PHIL  DERBY. 

and  gentlemen  who  were  teachers.  The 
children  were  coming  in,  and  Phil's  heart 
grew  lighter;  he  was  in  his  element  now, 
and  ready  to  join  with  all  his  soul  in  the 
exercises. 

The  superintendent  touched  his  bell, 
and  then  gave  out  a  hymn.  A  lady  took 
her  seat  in  front  of  a  small  instrument 
and  played  the  tune.  It  was  one  of 
Phil's  favourites,  and  he  opened  his 
mouth  to  sing.  Before  the  first  verse 
was  ended  he  came  to  a  sudden  stop, 
finding  himself  alone.  A  few  little  voices 
were  feebly  drawling  out  the  words  a 
whole  line  behind  him,  and  everybody, 
teachers  as  well  as  scholars,  was  looking 
at  him  with  astonishment.  Phil  let  them 
finish  the  hymn  without  his  help,  all  the 
while  filled  with  a  sorrowful  memory  of 
the  hearty  praises  that  had  rung  again 
and  again  through  the  old  barn  in  Clegg 
Hole. 

The  prayers  and  the  lessons  matched 
the  singing.  There  was  no  heart  about 


A   CHANGE   OF  SCENE.  337 

any  of  them.  The  only  time  when  there 
did  seem  a  flutter  of  interest  was  when 
the  library  books  were  distributed.  Even 
that  was  very  faint,  for  the  books  were 
old,  and  the  larger  scholars  pushed  them 
aside,  having  read  them  all  once  and 
again. 

Phil  rose  to  speak.  The  children 
looked  tired  and  the  teachers  indifferent. 
They  were  used  to  little  formal  speeches 
from  the  superintendent,  and  now  and 
then  from  the  pastor,  who  felt  it  his  duty 
to  address  them  occasionally.  Perhaps 
the  like  of  the  missionary's  hearty,  strong 
voice  had  never  been  heard  in  that  room. 
At  any  rate,  hardly  had  Phil  begun 
speaking  before  a  look  of  interest  began 
to  dawn  in  several  small  faces,  and  before 
he  had  finished  every  pair  of  eyes  was 
fixed  full  upon  his  face,  and  eveiy  pair 
of  ears  was  taking  in  with  pleasure  his 
account  of  other  Sunday-schools  where 
they  did  not  have  an  organ  to  lead  the 
singing,  nor  such  a  nice  room  to  meet  in. 

29  W 


338  PHIL   DEREY. 

The  children  were  dismissed.  At  the 
superintendent's  request  the  teachers  re- 
mained to  hear,  as  he  said,  "  any  sugges- 
tions that  our  missionary  friend  may 
make  for  the  benefit  of  the  school." 

"  Suggestions !"  echoed  Phil,  his  face 
and  heart  both  aglow  with  enthusiasm; 
"  I  can  only  suggest  that  you  ask  the 
Lord  to  grant  you  another  day  of  Pen- 
tecost. What  this  school  needs,  in  my 
judgment,  is  the  coming  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  Let  us  pray." 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  all  knelt  as 
a  matter  of  course,  each  one  thinking, 
"  What  a  queer,  excitable  fellow  this  is,  to 
be  sure !"  Phil's  prayer  was,  as  usual,  a 
very  simple  one.  He  was  not  gifted  with 
eloquence  and  had  not  many  words  of 
more  than  two  syllables  at  his  command. 
He  had  a  way,  however,  of  knowing  ex- 
actly what  he  wanted  and  of  asking  God 
to  give  him  just  that  thing.  Any  one 
who  said  "  Amen "  to  Phil's  prayer  was 
in  no  danger  of  setting  his  seal  to  a  peti- 


A   CHANGE  OF  SCENE.  339 

tion  ignorantly.  After  a  short  talk,  in 
which  the  visitor  spoke  very  plainly 
about  the  lack  he  had  felt  in  the  exer- 
cises, the  little  group  separated.  Mr. 
Jay  shook  Phil's  hand  cordially  at  part- 
ing, inviting  him  to  look  in  upon  them 
again.  Not  a  word  said  he,  however,  of 
the  sharp  sword,  of  truth  which  Phil's 
homely  words  had  driven  into  his  con- 
science. He  was  an  honest  man,  this 
superintendent ;  and  when  that  sword  had 
once  fairly  cut  through  the  crust  of  for- 
mality, it  did  a  mighty  work.  For  many 
Sundays  after  that  the  teachers  and  schol- 
ars of  the  school  marvelled  at  the  change 
that  had  come  over  Mr.  Jay.  By  and 
by  they  ceased  to  marvel,  for  the  leaven, 
hidden  first  in  his  heart,  soon  had  an 
influence  on  the  whole  school,  and  in  due 
time  upon  the  church  itself,  in  the  form 
of  a  great  revival.  Mr.  Cathcart  con- 
gratulated himself  that  his  sermon  on 
the  "  valley  of  dry  bones,"  which  he  was 
wont  to  improve  and  repeat  once  a  year, 


340  PHIL   DEERY. 

had  at  last  had  its  effect.  Mr.  Jay  and 
one  or  two  others  traced  the  beginning 
of  this  outpouring  of  the  Spirit  to  a  sim- 
ple prayer  uttered  in  the  basement  in  the 
presence  of  a  group  of  teachers.  No 
matter ;  the  gift  was  direct  from  God,  and 
thereby  many  lips  were  opened  to  ask  for 
a  continuance  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A     DIFFERENCE  OF  OPINION. 

the  afternoon,  at  the  first  sound 
of  church-bells,  Phil  started  forth, 
not  knowing  in  which  direction  to 
turn  his  steps,  but  intent  on  find- 
ing a  meeting  of  some  sort  in  which  he 
might  join  as  a  worshipper.  He  came  in 
sight  of  a  large  stone  church  where  many 
people  were  ascending  the  steps,  among 
them  a  large  proportion  of  children. 
"  This  is  the  place  for  me,"  thought  our 
missionary,  so  he  too  mounted  the  steps, 
and  at  the  door  was  met  by  the  sexton 
and  shown  to  one  of  the  pews  reserved 
for  strangers.  Phil  was  conscious  at 
once  that  this  church  was  of  a  different 
sort  from  Mr.  Cathcart's.  It  was  a  hand- 
some edifice,  and  the  people  were  equally 

29  *  34k 


342  PHIL,   DERBY. 

well  dressed  with  those  he  had  seen  in 
the  morning,  but  there  was  a  stir  and 
energy  in  the  very  air. 

It  turned  out  that  this  was  an  anni- 
versary of  the  Sunday-school.  The 
church  was  filled,  the  organ  pealed 
forth,  and  then  the  congregation  rose 
while  the  children  sang  an  anthem  of 
praise.  Phil's  heart  beat  joyfully.  Here 
at  last  he  was  to  see  a  Sunday-school  in 
perfection.  He  was  to  witness  a  model 
which  in  all  his  future  wanderings  he 
could  present  to  new-formed  schools  as  a 
pattern  for  imitation.  It  must  be  for  this 
that  he  had  been  led  to  spend  the  day  in 

R .     But  he  could  not  take  time  for 

thinking  just  then.  All  eyes  were  turned 
toward  the  platform,  where  a  fashionably- 
dressed  girl  stood  reciting  a  poem.  After 
this  there  was  a  dialogue,  then  came  a 
hymn.  Portions  of  Scripture  were  re- 
peated in  concert  by  different  classes,  and 
the  meeting  closed  by  a  brief  address 
from  the  minister.  Phil  lingered  behind 


A   DIFFERENCE  OF  OPINION.  343 

the  rest  of  the  congregation,  and  then 
made  his  way  to  the  platform,  where 
stood  the  minister  and  one  or  two  other 
gentlemen.  He  introduced  himself  by 
naming  the  well-known  society  for  which 
he  laboured. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
gentlemen.  "  If  Mr.  Noble  here  had 
known  of  your  presence,  he  would  have 
had  you  up  to  make  a  speech." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Noble,  who  was 
the  superintendent ;  "  it  would  have  been 
the  very  thing  for  the  anniversary.  A 
little  dull,  don't  you  think  so,  doctor?" 
turning  to  the  minister. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  yet  I 
am  glad  to  have  had  Mr.  Derry  present. 
We  pride  ourselves  on  the  success  of  our 
Sunday-school,  sir,"  he  said,  now  address- 
ing the  visitor.  "People  say  it  goes 
ahead  of  any  other  in  town,  and  I  be- 
lieve it.  If  you  would  like  to  glance 
over  our  statistics,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Noble 
will  be  pleased  to  show  you  his  books 


344  PHIL   DERBY. 

and  give  you  any  information  about  the 
working  of  the  school." 

"Most  happy,  I  am  sure,"  was  Mr. 
Noble's  prompt  assurance.  "  Mr.  Derry, 
if  you  have  no  other  engagement,  sup- 
pose you  come  and  take  tea  at  my  house. 
We  will  come  again  to  the  evening  ser- 
vice, and — " 

"And  then,"  interposed  Doctor  Lee, 
"  we  should  be  pleased  to  hear  from  you 
in  regard  to  your  admirable  work.  In 
fact,  we  may  as  well  devote  the  evening 
collection  to  the  cause  you  have  in  hand 
if  the  official  brethren  don't  object." 

Phil  thanked  both  his  new  friends 
with  much  warmth,  and  together  the 
three  gentlemen  walked  toward  the  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Noble,  the  parsonage  being 
in  the  same  direction. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  good  deal  of  life 
in  your  school,  sir,"  said  Phil  to  Mr. 
Noble. 

"  You  are  quite  right  there,  sir,  and 
that  is,  no  doubt,  the  secret  of  our  sue- 


A   DIFFERENCE  OF   OPINION.  345 

cess.  We  have  something  going  on  all 
the  time  to  keep  up  an  interest.  It's  a 
good  deal  of  expense  to  us,  but  it  pays, 
sir,  it  pays." 

"  And  what  is  it  you  do  ?"  asked  Phil. 
"  I  am  still  but  a  raw  recruit  at  my  work, 
and  I  want  to  learn  all  that  I  can  from 
those  who  have  had  greater  experience." 

"  A  very  correct  idea,  Mr.  Derry,"  said 
Mr.  Noble,  approvingly.  "The  great 
thing  is,  you  see,  to  keep  up  an  interest. 
Now,  we  have  all  sorts  of  things.  Last 
Christinas  we  got  up  a  tree ;  such  a  tree 
had  never  been  seen  in  town  before.  It 
cost  us  a  good  deal  of  money,  but  then 
it  paid.  Why,  sir,  it  drew  the  children 
in  from  every  quarter.  Every  one  either 
saw  it  or  heard  of  it,  and  the  little  folks 
came  flocking  in  to  make  sure  and  have 
their  share  in  the  tree  next  Christmas." 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  Phil,  rather  doubt- 
fully. 

"  We  have  a  picnic  every  summer,  too. 
That  goes  a  good  way  with  most  of 


346  PHIL   DERBY. 

the  children.  Every  now  and  then  we 
offer  a  prize  for  the  one  who  brings  in 
most  scholars  or  who  learns  the  greatest 
number  of  texts.  Sometimes  it's  one 
thing,  sometimes  another.  It  keeps  me 
busy,  though — in  fact,  as  I've  often  told 
the  doctor,  I  never  worked  so  hard  in 
my  life  as  since  I  undertook  the  super- 
intendency  of  that  school." 

"  We  all  know  that,  Mr.  Noble,"  re- 
plied the  doctor,  "and  we  appreciate 
your  work.  If  you  were  to  give  up,  as 
you  threatened  once,  that  school  would 
go  down  as  rapidly  as  it  has  grown  up." 

A  thought  of  Jonah's  gourd  came  to 
the  missionary's  mind,  but  he  held  his 
peace  and  was  full  of  self-reproach  for 
allowing  it  a  moment's  entrance. 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  he,  "  that  as  it 
costs  so  much  to  keep  the  school  going, 
you  do  not  have  much  to  spare  for  be- 
nevolent objects  outside." 

"  You  would  think  so,  now,  wouldn't 
you?"  said  Mr.  Noble,  well  pleased  at 


A  DIFFERENCE   OF   OPINION.  347 

this  remark.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  sir, 
there's  not  one  school  in  a  hundred  that 
spends  at  the  rate  ours  does  and  yet  is 
as  liberal.  We  give  considerable  to  the 
poor.  Only  a  few  months  ago  the  ladies 
got  up  an  exhibition,  had  a  wonderful 
success,  had  it  repeated  by  request,  and 
raised  a  hundred  and  odd  dollars  for  the 
relief  of  the  needy  here  in  town." 

"That  was  a  good  work  indeed,"  was 
Phil's  hearty  comment.  "  What  sort  of 
exhibition  was  it  ?" 

"  It  was  Mr.  Noble's  own  idea,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  He  suggested  it  and  inter- 
ested the  most  efficient  of  our  ladies  in 
it.  They  drilled  the  children  and  man- 
aged things  generally.  They  sold  more 
tickets  than  we  dared  expect."  Then,  in 
answer  to  Phil's  look  of  inquiry,  he 
explained,  "  Oh,  it  was  a  simple  affair 
enough — several  tableaux  and  a  short 
play ;  a  very  moral  sort  of  thing.  It- 
took  amazingly." 

"  A  play  !"   exclaimed  Phil ;    "  surely 


348  PHIL   DERBY. 

you  don't  mean  a  theatrical  perform- 
ance?" 

"Well,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  so," 
replied  Mr.  Noble,  rather  uneasily,  "I 
suppose  it  was.  I  see  that  you  have  the 
old-fashioned  prejudice  against  things  of 
that  kind.  People  have  got  beyond  that 
now,  for  the  most  part." 

Phil  had  to  own  that  he  did  hold  the 
old-fashioned  belief  that  all  such  enter- 
tainments were  out  of  place  as  connected 
with  Sunday-schools  or  churches.  He 
had  in  the  wild  days  of  his  boyhood 
seen  several  theatrical  performances 
given  by  travelling  companies.  He  pre- 
sumed that  it  must  be  a  very  different 
sort  which  Mr.  Noble  had  introduced 
into  his  Sunday-school,  yet  he  could  not 
help  expressing  his  horror  at  allowing 
the  children  to  couple  their  ideas  of 
religion  and  charity  with  mimic  theatri- 
cals. 

The  three  gentlemen  had  reached  Mr. 
Noble's  house,  and  lingered  on  the  steps 


A   DIFFERENCE  OF   OPINION.  349 

to  finish  their  conversation.  Phil  per- 
ceived that  both  minister  and  superin- 
tendent were  annoyed  at  his  objection  to 
the  exhibition. 

"  Certainly  we  all  have  a  right  to  our 
private  opinions.  The  only  way  to  prove 
opinions,  as  I  take  it,  is  to  put  them  in 
practice  and  find  whether  they  succeed 
or  not,"  said  Doctor  Lee. 

"  Just  so,  doctor,"  agreed  Mr.  Noble ; 
"  and  I  am  sure  our  Sunday-school  oper- 
ations have  met  with  remarkable  suc- 
cess ;  therefore — "  and  he  smilingly 
nodded  to  Phil  as  if  inviting  him  to 
finish  the  sentence  with  a  compliment. 

There  was  a  good  chance  for  a  flatter- 
ing speech,  but  Phil  could  not  make  one. 

"  My  idea  of  a  Sunday-school,"  said 
he,  gravely,  "  is  simply  as  a  place  where 
the  children  are  led  to  love  God  and  keep 
his  commandments.  If  they  are  able  to 
give  to  the  poor,  it  is  well ;  but  to  have 
them  taught  by  the  very  ones  who  in- 
struct them  in  the  word  of  God  to  take 

30 


350  PHIL   DERRY. 

part  in  theatrical  plays  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  public —  Oh,  gentlemen,  I 
cannot  agree  with  you  that  it  is  right. 
Better  assist  the  poor  in  some  other  way. 
I  am  a  plain  man — my  religion  is  plain, 
and  so  are  my  words  —  and  I  may  be 
giving  offence.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so, 
but  I  must  say  that  if  such  is  Sunday- 
school  success  I  had  much  rather  be 
counted  unsuccessful  in  my  labours.  I 
want  my  work  to  stand  the  test  of  the 
day  of  judgment;  do  you  think  yours 
will?" 

Phil  stopped,  conscious  of  having  said 
more  than  was  prudent.  He  was  still 
more  conscious  of  it  when  Doctor  Lee, 
with  a  cool  bow,  stepped  back  to  the  side- 
walk, saying  that  he  believed  he  must 
hasten  home  to  prepare  for  the  evening, 
and  went  off. 

"Will  you  go  in,  Mr.  Deny?"  Mr. 
Noble  took  the  door-key  from  his  pocket 
and  looked  doubtfully  at  Phil. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  not,  after  all," 


A   DIFFERENCE   OF  OPINION.  351 

he  answered.  "  I  believe  I  have  hurt 
your  feelings  by  the  expression  of  my 
own ;  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the 
other;  "  it  is  not  worth  while  speaking  of 
it.  Perhaps,  though,  as  you  have  your- 
self perceived  the  doctor's  sensitiveness 
to  such  remarks,  it  would  be  as  well  to 
say  nothing  further  about  your  address- 
ing his  congregation  this  evening.  You 
might  happen  to  express  very  different 
ideas  from  his,  which  would  hardly  be  the 
courteous  thing,  you  will  admit."  Mr. 
Noble  turned  the  door-knob  and  looked 
toward  Phil,  as  if  inviting  him  to  enter, 
but  the  young  man  declined  and  took  his 
leave. 

"  Such  nonsense  !"  muttered  the  super- 
intendent as  he  closed  the  door  between 
him  and  his  intended  guest. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  BELATED  TRAVELLER. 

,  HE  little  village  of  Westwater  lay 
in  a  nook  of  the  mountains  so  far 
from  any  great  centre  of  business 
or  travel  that  very  few  besides  its 
own  inhabitants  knew  what  a  charming 
place  it  was.  I  use  the  past  tense  in 
speaking  of  it,  because,  since  the  date  of 
my  story,  great  changes  have  occurred, 
and  the  far  West  is  no  longer  an  un- 
known country  to  tourists  and  pleasure- 
seekers.  There  were  waterfalls  beau- 
tiful enough  to  write  poems  about,  bits  of 
scenery  worthy  the  canvas  of  the  greatest 
painter,  and  woods  through  which  any 
school-boy  would  delight  to  wander  on  a 
holiday,  but  Westwater  itself  was  a  poor 
little  village,  with  nothing  to  recom- 

352 


A    BELATED   TEAVELLEE.  353 

mend  it  to  any  but  those  who  loved  it  as 
their  home. 

At  the  fireside  of  one  of  its  rude  cot- 
tages one  autumn  evening  sat  a  middle- 
aged  man  and  his  wife,  she  making  her 
knitting-needles  fly  in  and  out  the  meshes 
of  gray  yarn  soon  to  take  the  complete 
shape  of  a  sock,  he,  with  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  chin  resting  on  his  palms, 
steadily  gazing  into  the  pleasant  blaze. 
They  sat  silent  thus  a  good  while.  At  last 
the  man  glanced  up  and  said, 

"  I'm  clear  discouraged,  Mary.  Noth- 
ing prospers  with  us  this  year.  We've 
lost  the  cow,  your  rheumatiz  keeps  get- 
ting worse  and  worse.  There's  the  garden 
too ;  I've  spent  more  on  it  than  we'll  get 
from  it,  by  a  good  deal." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  wife,  cheerily.  "  It 
does  look  pretty  dull  just  now,  but  'every 
cloud  has  its  silver  lining,'  John." 

"  So  they  say,  but  somehow  I  can't  turn 
our  clouds  wrong  side  out,  so  as  to  show 
the  lining." 

30*  X 


354  PHIL,   DERRY. 

They  sat  silent  again  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the 
whistling  wind  outside  and  the  clicking 
of  the  busy  needles  within.  Then  John 
roused  up,  moved  his  chair  a  little  back 
from  the  fire,  and  said, 

"  If  'twarn't  for  the  cost  of  travelling 
and  the  unlikelihoods  of  selling  the  place 
here  to  advantage,  I'd  say  right  off  let's 
break  up  and  go  on  to  Susan's  and  live 
out  the  rest  of  our  days." 

"  Oh,  John,  you  wouldn't  give  up  your 
home,  would  you?  Susan'd  be  glad  to 
have  her  old  father  and  mother  to  live 
with  her,  I  know,  and  so  would  her  hus- 
band, for  Joe  is  a  kind-hearted  man ;  but 
for  all  that,  I  want  to  end  my  days  here 
in  Westwater,  and  in  my  own  home." 

The  needles  gave  some  very  energetic 
clicks  as  Mary  said  these  words.  "  Be- 
sides, old  man,  you  are  forgetting  all 
about  the  Sunday-school.  That  would  be 
completely  broke  up  if  you  was  to  go 
away." 


A   BELATED   TRAVELLER.  355 

"  Why,  Mary,"  and  the  answer  came 
with  a  sigh,  "  that  Sunday-school  is  one 
of  the  principal  things  I'm  discouraged 
over.  See  how  I've  worked  at  it  year  in 
and  year  out,  try  in'  my  very  best  and  hop- 
in'  that  some  one  would  come  along  to  give 
a  helpin'  hand.  There's  not  a  person  here, 
as  you  know,  that  cares  enough  for  religion 
to  give  a  couple  of  hours  every  Sunday 
to  teachin'  the  children.  The  little  books 
Susan's  husband  s"ent  us  when  they  was 
first  married  are  pretty  nigh  worn  out, 
they  have  been  read  through  so  much. 
I  can't  blame  the  children  if  they  do  get 
tired  listening  to  an  old  fellow  like  me 
week  after  week." 

John  drew  his  coat  sleeve  across  his 
eyes,  and  at  that  signal  Mary  put  down 
her  work,  and  springing  up  as  nimbly  as 
if  she  had  never  had  a  touch  of  rheum- 
atism in  her  bones  took  a  corner  of 
her  apron  to  wipe  away  the  tears,  and 
with  the  other  hand  patted  her  husband's 


356  PHIL,   DEREY. 

cheek  gently,  as  one  might  do  to  a  little 
child. 

"  What's  become  of  your  faith  to-night, 
John  ?"  said  she.  "  You've  worked  and 
you've  studied  and  you've  prayed  for  that 
Sunday-school,  and  here  at  the  last  you 
act  as  if  you  thought  the  Lord  wasn't  to 
be  depended  on  as  much  as  you  was 
yourself." 

"  Tut,  tut,  wife !  what's  that  you're 
saying?" 

"  Only  this,"  she  replied,  laughing — 
"  that  you  as  good  as  declare  that  John 
Murray  has  done  his  part  of  the  work 
the  very  best  he  could,  and  it  ain't  any 
use  for  him  to  keep  on  doing  any  longer, 
for  God  won't  bless  it." 

"No,"  said  the  man,  reverently,  "it 
don't  become  me  to  say  any  such  thing, 
for  the  Lord's  promises  never  fail ;  but  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  that  school.  When 
I  begun  it  with  half  a  dozen  youngsters, 
you  know  well,  Mary,  it  was  with  a  hope 
that  others'd  join  me  and  help  along.  I 


A    BELATED   TKAVELLER. 

never  was  able  to  do  all  myself,  but  some- 
how one  and  another  give  me  the  slip, 
and  I  don't  see  one  sign  that  my  work  is 
accepted.  Yes,  I've  about  made  up  my 
mind  to  sell  off  the  first  chance  and  go 
live  with  our  daughter  Susan." 

"  Oh,  you've  got  the  blues  to-night, 
husband.  Just  you  keep  on  praying,  and 
the  way '11  be  opened  for  us  yet.  Other 
folks  loses  their  cows  and  has  the  rheum- 
atiz  as  well  as  us." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  other  folks  don't  un- 
dertake to  train  up  the  children  in  the 
fear  of  the  Lord  and  get  neither  blessing 
from  heaven  nor  help  upon  earth,  do 
they  ?" 

Before  Mary  could  put  in  words  the 
cheering  thoughts  that  rose  in  her  heart 
wherewith  to  comfort  John,  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door.  Both  gave  a  start. 
It  was  not  usual  to  be  disturbed  of  an 
evening  in  quiet  Westwater. 

"  It  must  be  that  little  Huldah  Mason 
is  took  worse  and  they've  sent  for  me," 


358  PHIL   DERRY. 

said  John  as  he  rose  and  opened  the 
door. 

It  was  an  unknown  voice  that  saluted 
him  from  the  darkness  without. 

"  Could  you  give  a  stranger  a  lodging 
for  the  night  ?"  said  the  voice. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  how  came  you 
here  at  this  hour  of  night  ?" 

"  Better  let  him  in,  at  any  rate,  John," 
called  the  kind-hearted  Mary,  "  and  let 
him  warm  himself  while  he  tells  his 
story." 

"  Yes,  come  in,  do ;  one  can't  refuse  a 
seat  by  the  fire  to  any  man  this  chilly 
night." 

Upon  this  invitation  Philip  Derry  en- 
tered the  cottage  and  gladly  took  the 
offered  seat  before  the  blazing  fire. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  are  surprised 
at  seeing  a  stranger  at  this  late  hour," 
said  he. 

"  There  don't  many  strangers  come  to 
Westwater  by  day,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
dark  night,"  said  John,  looking  doubt- 


A   BELATED   TRAVELLER.  359 

fully  at  the  tall  young  fellow  rubbing 
his  hands  and  spreading  them  out  to 
catch  all  the  heat  he  could  from  the 
glowing  fire. 

"  The  way  of  it  was  this :  I  came  by 

stage  to  H ;  got  there  early  in  the 

afternoon.  I  made  some  inquiry  about 
the  neighbouring  country,  and  learned 
that  a  village  called  Westwater  lay  a  few 
miles  distant ;  so  as  I  was  pretty  well  tired 
out  with  a  long  ride,  I  concluded  to  walk 
in  this  direction  and  see  what  there  was 
to  be  seen." 

"  You  didn't  walk  here  from  H , 

did  you  ?"  asked  both  the  old  people  at 
once.  "  It's  nigh  fifteen  miles." 

"  I  did,  indeed,"  said  Phil,  laughing. 
"  The  man  that  directed  me  said  it  was  a 
few  miles  and  a  good  road ;  so  with  that 
I  started  off",  making  sure  of  a  pleasant 
stroll  and  getting  back  to  the  tavern  in 
time  for  supper." 

"  That  was  too  bad,  now,"  said  John, 
kindly,  for  his  suspicions  had  passed 


360  PHIL   DERBY. 

away  with  the  first  sound  of  Phil's  pleas- 
ant voice.  "  Wife,  I  s'pose  we  can  make 
the  gentleman  comfortable  for  the  night, 
eh?" 

But  Mary  was  already  bustling  about 
to  prepare  a  meal  for  the  tired  traveller, 
and  did  not  hear.  When  the  simple 
fare  was  placed  on  the  table,  she  bade 
the  stranger  sit  down  and  partake ;  and 
motioning  to  her  husband  to  come  aside 
a  moment,  she  said, 

"  John,  you'll  not  let  him  go  away  to- 
night ?  He's  an  honest  man,  I'm  sure." 

Getting  acquainted  is  a  business  of 
years  or  of  moments,  as  people  choose 
to  make  it.  In  this  case  it  came  about 
quite  naturally,  as  the  three  sat  around 
the  fire  chatting  away,  that  John  should 
make  known  his  heart-burden  to  his  sym- 
pathizing guest. 

"  You   have   a  pleasant   home   here,"  , 
remarked  Phil  as  he  gazed  around  the 
neat  room. 

"Ay,   you   may  well   say  that,"   was 


A   BELATED   TRAVELLER.  361 

Mary's  answer,  but  John  only  heaved  a 
sigh. 

"  I  had  not  a  chance  to  see  the  village. 
Have  you  good  neighbours  here  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  John,  slowly ;  "  the 
home  is  good,  the  village  is  good,  the 
neighbours  is  good,  but  for  all  that  I 
want  to  sell  out  and  go  make  a  home 
with  our  daughter  that's  married." 

"  Oh,  sir,  don't  mind  what  he  says," 
interposed  Mary.  "  He's  got  the  blues 
to-night,  as  I  was  tellin'  him  just  before 
you  came.  Things  hasn't  been  prosper- 
ous with  us  lately.  We've  lost  our  cow, 
and  I've  been  laid  up  a  good  bit  with  the 
rheumatiz,  and  things  have  gone  wrong. 
No,  I  shouldn't  say  that,  either,  for  the 
Lord  has  given  us  many  blessings." 

There  was  a  glad  look  in  the  visitor's 
eyes  as  he  turned  them  toward  the 
wrinkled  old  face  so  truly  beautiful  in 
its  expression  of  Christian  faith. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  I  came  to  your 
house,"  he  replied.  "  I  did  feel  a  trifle 

31 


o62  PHIL    DERRY. 

put  out  when  I  found  myself  belated  on 
the  road  and  did  not  know  whether  to 
go  back  or  forward,  and  I  grumbled  a 
good  deal  to  myself  about  the  stupidity 
of  the  fellow  who  said  Westwater  was 
but  a  few  miles  off.  But  gladly  would  I 
have  come  double  the  distance  had  I 
known  I  should  find  fellow- Christians  at 
the  end  of  my  journey.  It  is  a  rare 
treat." 

The  two  old  people  heard  him  in  as- 
tonishment and  pleasure.  Then  Phil 
told  them  that  he  was  going  about  as  a 
Sunday-school  missionary,  that  his  work 
was  to  open  the  way  for  schools  where 
there  were  none,  to  assist  any  that  he 
found  struggling  along,  and  to  do  what- 
ever came  in  his  way  toward  building- 
up  the  kingdom  of  the  Lord  in  that 
region. 

Before  he  ceased  speaking  Mary's 
knitting  lay  untouched  in  her  lap  and 
John  had  taken  one  of  Phil's  hands  in 
both  of  his  with  an  affectionate  clasp. 


A   BELATlJD   TRAVELLER.  363 

Then  the  whole  story  came  out  about  his 
efforts  to  get  the  children  together  on 
Sundays,  his  prayers  and  his  Bible  study 
for  their  sake,  his  great  disappointment 
as  one  after  another  dropped  off  and  no- 
body came  forward  to  help  him. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  friend,"  said  the  mis- 
sionary. "  God  has  surely  sent  me  here 
to  strengthen  your  hands.  I'll  spend  to- 
morrow with  you,  and  we'll  go  about 
among  the  people  and  see  what  can  be 
done." 

It  was  a  thoughtful  prayer  that  went 
up  from  the  three  hearts  as  the  old  cou- 
ple and  their  guest  knelt  together  before 
retiring. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mary  to  John  when  they 
were  alone,  "  what  have  you  to  say 
about  'the  silver  lining  of  our  clouds' 
now?" 

"  I  begin  to  see  it  shining,"  was  the 
answer.  "  What's  that  verse,  wife,  about 
'  entertaining  angels  unawares'  ?  I  reckon 
we've  done  it  this  time." 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE  SUMMING  UP. 

T  would  be  but  the  repetition  of  an 
old  story  to  go  over  the  incidents 
of  Phil's  visit  to  Westwater.  Al- 
ready we  have  seen  that  he  was 
sent  there  for  the  express  purpose  of  en- 
couraging the  heart  of  faithful  John 
Murray  in  his  work.  It  was  not  in  vain 
that  Phil  visited  the  people  in  their 
homes,  gave  them  tracts,  and  set  forth  in 
glowing  colours  the  advantages  of  a  well- 
sustained  Sunday-school.  The  parents 
as  a  general  thing  agreed  to  send  their 
children  more  regularly,  and  a  plan  was 
set  on  foot  for  a  Sunday  morning  meet- 
ing among  the  grown  folks  for  the  sake 
of  studying  the  Bible  together  and  for 
prayer.  The  missionary  left  them  with 

364 


THE   SUMMING   UP.  365 

a  promise  of  reporting  their  case  in  his 
letters  with  the  hope  that  some  more 
highly  blessed  Sunday-school  would  be 
moved  to  provide  them  with  a  small 
library. 

The  people  listened  and  promised,  as  I 
have  said,  because,  although  old  John 
Murray  had  often  used  the  very  same 
arguments,  there  is  some  power  the  world 
over  in  a  new  face  and  strange  voice  to 
influence  hearts.  This  seasonable  visit 
so  cheered  the  old  man  that  he  said  no 
more  about  "  selling  off  and  going  to  live 
with  Susan,"  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
Mary  will,  if  she  is  still  alive,  realize 
her  wish  to  end  her  days  in  her  West- 
water  home. 

Philip  Derry  went  on  with  his  work 
from  place  to  place  year  after  year.  It 
may  be  that  this  very  day  he  is  singing 
his  favourite  hymns  along  some  lonely 
Western  road.  It  is  not  unlikely  that 
the  readers  of  this  story  may  have  seen 
now  and  then  quotations  in  the  papers 

31* 


366  PHIL   DERRY. 

from  the  reports  he  sends  home  regularly 
about  his  labours. 

I  wish  that  in  this  closing  chapter  it 
were  possible  to  bring  all  the  characters 
together  and  wind  up  the  unfinished 
threads  of  their  histories,  as  is  common 
in  story-books.  That  cannot  well  be 
done,  for  many  of  them  live  quietly  on 
in  the  same  routine  as  when  they  were 
introduced  to  the  reader.  Of  such,  good 
Captain  Marks  is  an  example.  Though 
growing  daily  more  infirm,  he  still  keeps 
the  oversight  of  his  increasing  business. 
The  real  work  of  it  falls  to  his  two  clerks. 
The  care  of  the  Sunday-school  he  will 
not  relinquish  to  any  one.  It  has  grown 
and  prospered  as  the  years  have  gone  on, 
and  has  been,  as  Mrs.  Striker  told  Phil, 
"  the  very  saving  of  Eagleville."  Sun- 
day after  Sunday  the  captain  stands  up 
like  a  patriarch  in  the  midst  of  those 
whom  he  has  trained  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  Scriptures  with  many  of  their 
children  around  them.  With  the  school 


THE  SUMMING  UP.  367 

and  the  monthly  preaching,  Eagleville  has 
become  a  very  different  place  from  that 
described  in  our  early  chapters ;  and  these 
changes  have  quietly  grown,  one  by  one, 
as  we  have  seen,  from  the  good  seed  sown 
there  so  long  ago  by  Mr.  Williston. 

Mrs.  Derry,  after  a  few  peaceful  years 
in  her  sister-in  law's  home,  went  to  rest, 
leaving  many  sincere  mourners  among 
the  friends  she  had  won  in  Millville  by 
her  gentle,  kindly  ways.  Great  indeed 
was  the  contrast  between  the  tranquil 
blind  woman  seated  with  folded  hands  in 
Mrs.  Goodwin's  house  and  the  angry- 
voiced  "  Jake  Berry's  wife "  to  whom 
the  reader  was  first  introduced. 

Lizzie  was  married  to  a  young  farmer 
a  few  miles  from  Millville.  Sallie  lived 
on  with  her  aunt  Hannah,  and  has  be- 
come the  old  lady's  entire  dependence 
for  comfort  and  help.  Sam,  who  looked 
forward  to  driving  up  to  his  aunt's  door 
some  day  with  a  grancl  carriage  and 
clothes,  never  realized  his  dream,  poor 


368  PHIL   DERRY. 

fellow !  About  two  years  after  the  re- 
moval of  the  family  to  Millville  a  let- 
ter reached  Mrs.  Derry,  written  by  one 
of  Sam's  comrades  at  the  mines,  in  which 
were  given  the  details  of  a  sad  accident 
in  which  several  young  men  had  lost  their 
lives ;  one  of  them  was  Sam  Derry. 

Good  Mr.  Williston  still  lives  and 
labours  in  his  chosen  work  of  planting 
Sunday-schools  wherever  there  are  chil- 
dren to  be  taught  and  souls  to  be  led  to 
the  Saviour.  Many  a  "solitary  place" 
has  been  made  "glad"  by  him,  many  a 
"wilderness"  of  ignorance  and  crime 
has  been  made  to  "  blossom  as  the  rose." 
Phil  still  hopes  to  meet  his  benefactor 
again  in  this  world,  if  only  to  let  him 
see  that  by  God's  grace  the  kindness  he 
showed  to  "Stokes's  lodger"  has  not 
been  thrown  away. 

And  now  for  Phil  himself.  We  have 
had  a  few  examples  only  of  his  life-work. 
His  whole  time*  is  devoted  to  travelling 
about,  planting  schools  where  there  are 


THE   SUMMING  UP.  369 

none,  encouraging  feeble  workers,  dis- 
tributing tracts  and  Bibles,  preaching  in 
public,  counselling  in  private.  It  is  a 
noble  life,  one  that  blesses  every  other 
with  which  it  comes  in  contact,  one  to 
which  we  dare  to  point  and  say  to  other 
young  men  who  may  read  his  history, 
"  Go  and  do  likewise." 

Phil  has  a  companion  in  his  travels 
now  in  the  person  of  our  old  acquaint- 
ance Hallie  Hope  of  Shunem,  now 
known  as  "  Mrs.  Derry."  Hallie  and 
Phil  are  of  one  mind  and  heart  about  the 
great  aim  of  their  being,  the  winning  of 
souls  to  Christ.  In  many  a  community 
they  are  beloved,  and  in  many  a  home 
their  names  are  remembered  in  the  daily 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  his  mercies. 

To  them,  in  conclusion,  we  may  grate- 
fully apply  the  beautiful  promise : 

"  They  that  be  wise  teachers  shall  shine 
as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament,  and 
they  that  turn  many  to  righteousness  as 
the  stars  for  ever  and  ever." 


